A Haunting
by Clier
Summary: It is irresponsible, risky, and wholly unprofessional. And though Vlad's convinced it's just a fling, he quickly realizes that a relationship with Daniel might be his last chance at redemption. UNDERGOING SERIOUS EDITING, CHAPTER REVISIONS TO FOLLOW.
1. Prologue: Invitations

**Author's Note:**

Hi everyone! Okay, so this is my first fanfiction EVER, so I'm suffering from lack of experience and I really don't know how it'll be received. But I do hope you like it! It's not very long (it's just a prologue, after all), but I've got the next two chapters in the works and I promise those won't be as short.

So here's a bit of my rationale behind this story, just so you know where I'm coming from as you read. I really like Vlad Masters as a character; he's pretty complex and, let's be honest, there's some seriously fucked up shit going on there. He's an interesting case. The problem with Vlad is the same problem every complex character in a children's cartoon encounters: they're in a _CHILDREN'S_ cartoon. As a result, a lot of the complexities of the character are lost in an effort to make the show understandable and appropriate for the young people. I suppose that with this story I'm trying to create the kind of Vlad I think would actually exist if he lived out here with us in the real world. This takes place about six years after the start of the series. I also disregarded a lot of what happened in the last season and the last movie becuase I didn't like them. My apologies if that really offends you or something. Oh, and i threw some (eventual) smut in there for good measure.

Again, I hope you like it. Please review! I really want to know what you guys have to say!

**Prologue: Invitations**

Vlad Masters absentmindedly ran a finger around the rim of his jacket button, glaring at his distorted reflection in the elevator wall. He hated board meetings, and today's had been markedly worse than usual since the fiscal year was drawing to a close. And then that jackass from sales Derrick something-or-other had _insisted_ on giving what was perhaps the most mind-numbingly dull presentation on cost-effective marketing in recorded human history. Vlad stifled a yawn and grimaced, remembering nearly falling asleep three times before finally resorting to counting the tiles in the ceiling to keep awake. There had been fifty-four tiles. As the elevator slowed and the doors swung open, Vlad made a mental note to find a way to keep Derrick out of any future meetings he'd have to attend.

The din of many chattering voices quickly evaporated into whispers and the diligent clicking of keyboards as the realization spread through the room that the CEO was on the floor. Vlad wasn't fazed; it was his usual reception. Turning a corner around a block of cubicles, he headed down a hallway towards his office, glancing at his watch as he walked. He'd planned to be home by this time. Fucking Derrick….

"Afternoon, Mr. Masters," a cheery voice called to him from across the hall as he paused at his office door, fumbling in his breast pocket for his card key. Turning slightly, Vlad spied Maxine, his current temp, hop up from her desk and flit over to him, heels clacking along the black linoleum.

"Maxine," Vlad responded. He plucked the card from his pocket before facing her fully, shamelessly eyeing her up and down. She caught the movement and pursed her lips in a sexy smile before tossing a lock of wavy red hair over her shoulder.

"I organized all your invoices," she said, handing him a folder of papers. "And you have a meeting with a new client next Wednesday at three-thirty. It's important, so be sure you look…" she ran a polished fingernail down the lapel of his jacket, giggling, "…nice." Vlad arched an eyebrow, shifting his eyes left and right to ensure no one was watching, though all things considered, he hardly would've cared if anyone was. He stared down at Maxine, smiling beautifully up at him. Even a week ago Vlad might have kissed her, or at least flashed her a sultry smile. Now, though…he just felt…nothing. She'd only worked for him for three weeks, and already he was bored.

"Really, Max," Vlad said, brushing off her finger and twisting his arm around to swipe his key. He heard a soft beep and felt the lock click open behind him. "Back to work."

Maxine pouted playfully, taking a step back before twirling around and walking slowly across the hall to her desk, swinging her hips gently to accentuate her backside. Vlad watched for a moment before turning into his office and slipping the card away. Sighing, he threw the folder on his desk, turned on his computer and slumped heavily onto the desk chair. As the computer churned to life, Vlad snuck a glance at Maxine through the blinds covering the glass wall that separated them. She was typing lazily away, a dreamy smile plastered on her face. Vlad sighed again. He probably shouldn't have slept with her. He certainly shouldn't have slept with her five times.

"Ah, well," he murmured to himself, grunting as he straightened up in the chair and leaned forward to check his email. He frowned at the small font and pulled open a side drawer, fishing out a small pair of glasses and shoving them up the bridge of his nose. When did he start needing glasses? Wearing them made him feel so goddamned old. Groaning, Vlad glanced at the calendar hanging to his left. His fiftieth birthday was in just under a year. How could that be possible?

How could he have already lived half his life?

_Oh really, stop thinking that way_, Vlad thought, pushing away the thin tendrils of doubt, dissatisfaction, and perhaps even fear starting to wind their way up his spine at the prospect of growing old. _You've done more in fifty years than most people have done in their entire lifetime. More in _twenty_ years. Now focus. Focus. _And he forced himself into his work, burying the troubling thoughts in a barrage of emails, reports and papers. Keeping his fears at bay proved to be a great motivation, and in a fraction of the time it would have normally taken him, Vlad had finished all he needed to do, and was just putting the finishing touches on a mass email to about thirty managers, politely asking them to, if they would, please keep their bloody interoffice squabbles out of his inbox, as he had more pressing matters to tend to.

Smiling satisfactorily as he sent the message, Vlad leaned back in his chair, arching his back to crack his spine and neck. He had just begun to pack his things to leave when Maxine buzzed him over the intercom.

"Mr. Masters," she cooed, her wicked little smile evident to Vlad right through the wires. "You have a call on line three." Vlad groaned.

"Who is it?" he asked. "I told you I was only taking important calls today—"

"Says it's a Mr. Jack Fenton." Vlad froze. Jack? _Jack? _He hadn't spoken to Jack in nearly two years….

"Mr. Masters?" Maxine's voice hazily edged its way through his brain lock. "Mr. Masters? Do you want to take the call?" Vlad blinked.

"Uh, yes. Fine." Picking up the phone, he punched the line button and held the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?"

"V-MAN!" Jack's unmistakable shout blared through the earpiece, causing Vlad to wince and yank the phone a few inches away from his ear. "How'ya doin'? It's been a while!"

"Uh, it-it-it certainly has," Vlad stammered, finding himself at a complete loss of words. "How, uh, wh-why are you calling?" He sounded like a stuttering idiot.

"I'll tell ya Vladdie," said Jack, still talking loudly enough that Vlad could hear him clearly while holding the phone a foot from his ear. "Maddie's throwin' me a party for my fiftieth – can you believe I'm gonna be FIFTY? – and I thought, I gotta invite the V-man! Can't have a party without him!" Jack laughed heartily; Vlad stared dumbfounded at the phone.

"So whudda ya say? We're planning for the, uh, the, uh—MADDIE?" Jack screamed into the distance. "When's the party?"

"The twenty-third, dear," Maddie's voice was just barely audible in the background. Vlad clutched the phone tighter, his knuckles white against the dark grey plastic.

"Thanks, baby!" Jack called, turning his attention back to Vlad. "Hear that, Vladdie? The twenty-third. So are ya comin'?" Vlad started.

"Uh…" He was finding it difficult to put sentences together.

"Vlad?"

"Uh, um, okay. Sure. Yes," he finally sputtered, flustered and grasping for words. His head was reeling. "Yeah, I'll be there."

"AWESOME!" Jack yelled into the phone, laughing. "I'm glad you can make it." His voice, though just as loud as before, suddenly seemed lighter, relieved. Through his muddled thoughts a small part of Vlad's mind recognized that Jack had been afraid he would have turned down the invitation. Vlad didn't know how he felt about that. It was just so strange to be talking to Jack again after all this time; he felt as though his brain was speeding up and slowing down simultaneously. A thousand questions raced though Vlad's head, deep, painful questions he wanted the answers to, but his mind couldn't process them fast enough and he found himself asking something else entirely—

"How did you get this number?"

"Tucker Foley," cried Jack without a moment's hesitation. "I asked him to track you down—that boy had your number in like five minutes flat!"

"Hmm," said Vlad, managing to dredge up faint memories of the boy and his obsession with electronics. "Daniel's friend…."

"Yeah!" said Jack. "It was great! Well, V-man, I'll be seeing you the twenty-third! Make sure to buy me something awesome! HA!" Jack's laughter echoed through the receiver until it was cut off by a sharp click followed by a dial tone.

Vlad stared dumbly at the phone, caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, emotions he'd have liked to keep buried under two years' worth of distance between himself and the Fentons. His hands were shaking as he carefully hung up the phone, handling it delicately as though it were made of fragile glass. The truth was that if he didn't take care to set it down gently, he would have sent it flying across the room. Just hearing Jack's voice… just his _voice_ opened doors to some pretty dark places. Vlad shut his eyes. There was so much _anger_ there, so much of it, and underneath that, at the sinister root of it, was something else, something much more painful, a deep hurt and a powerful self-loathing—

"_Stop it!_" Vlad jumped to his feet, palms planted firmly on his desk, face staring down at the mess of papers covering it. He felt winded and was breathing in great raspy breaths as though he'd been punched in the gut. He shut his eyes again. "Stop it," he whispered fiercely. "Stop it, stop it, stop it—"

"Sir?"

Vlad gasped and snapped his head up so fast his glasses fell halfway off his face. His wild eyes fell on Maxine, a stack of papers in her hands, her face scrunched up in concern at Vlad's strange behavior.

"You okay?" she whispered, stepping into the office and shutting the door behind her. Vlad quickly straightened and composed himself as best he could.

"I'm fine," he said, attempting, only halfway successfully, to elicit a stern tone in his response.

"That call—" She eyed him suspiciously. "You sure you're okay?"

"I told you I'm fine," Vlad said, his tone rising a bit. But he heard his voice quaver as he spoke, and knew Maxine heard it too. He felt suddenly ashamed, and a hot, fiery hatred for the woman in front of him erupted in his chest. He felt pinned under her analyzing gaze. Vlad did not like to be analyzed. He did not like to be pinned.

"Just get out," he murmured darkly, fixing his steely eyes on the floor.

"Vlad—"

"Get. Out." Maxine put her hands on her hips.

"Look. I'm only trying to help—"

"I do not _need_ your _help_," Vlad seethed. "Go." Now it was Maxine's turn to feel powerless under Vlad's cold eyes. They bored into her; they almost seemed red with rage. Was it just her imagination? How could that be possible? She bit her lip, hesitating. Vlad's temper flared.

"BITCH, GET OUT OF THIS OFFICE!" he roared. Maxine jumped, the papers slipping from her grip and cascading to the floor. Her pretty face screwed up in anger.

"Fine." She turned for the exit, grinding her heels purposefully into the papers she just dropped. "If that's all I am to you, then we're through." Pausing with her hand on the knob, she turned back to Vlad. "I quit, you bastard."

"Fine by me," Vlad hissed after her. "You're only good for a fuck, anyways." Maxine started, and felt hot, angry tears jump into her eyes. She turned to Vlad, who was still breathing heavily and glaring icily at her.

"Son of a _bitch!_" she nearly screamed, hands clenched in angry fists by her sides. "You think this is over? You think you can treat me like this? I'm gonna report you to workers' relations so fast they'll have your dick on a platter! Enjoy your last day as CEO, you little prick—"

Maxine whipped around to the door, barely taking her eyes off Vlad for a second, but suddenly, there he was, not more than three inches in front of her, bearing down upon her with a wicked grin etched across his face and a furious glint in his eye. Gasping in shock, Maxine did a double-take towards the now empty desk before Vlad grabbed her shoulder, digging his fingers into her flesh.

"H-How did you—?"

"So now you're going to run off and _tell on me?_" Vlad hissed, interrupting her, a deadly edge in his voice. "I suppose I forgot we were still in fucking _second grade_." Maxine gaped; she had never heard him sound so cruel. Vlad chuckled darkly. "But that's okay," he continued, "because I know how to play all those games, too. In fact, I'll make you a deal." Maxine stared up at him, eyes wide in fear.

"Here it is: Keep that pretty little mouth of yours _shut_, and I'll forget all about the fact that your parents have been dodging their taxes for the past forty-seven years and that for the past two months your sister's been harboring a felon in her home." Maxine gasped and put a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry.

"How-how do you know about that?" The tears that had been resting in her eyes streamed down her cheeks.

"I have… methods," Vlad said simply, his grin stretching wider. "Really. Did you seriously think I'd start something with you without a bit of collateral? Please." He lowered his face until it was just inches from Maxine's. "So just remember: if you think you have _anything_ to say to _anyone_ about this, just remember that the IRS and a very disgruntled court in southern California will be hearing a few things from _me_. I have _money_, and I have _power_, and I have ways of dealing with those who insist on being thorns in my side, so _don't. Even. Try."_ Upon saying the last words, Vlad released Maxine's shoulder, sending her stumbling back several steps.

Vlad sauntered back to his desk, turning off his computer and brushing an array of papers and objects into his briefcase before glancing back up at Maxine, who hadn't moved. Her hands were clasped over her mouth, her glistening eyes wide and staring at the ground. Vlad grinned, a sadistic smile twisting his features as he reveled in the power he held over the woman. It was _intoxicating_. But at that moment another emotion wedged its way into his mind, one that wanted to apologize to Maxine, to hold her and pet her hair and beg for her forgiveness because this really wasn't him at all, it really wasn't, and she may well have loved him and he desperately wanted that, god, he wanted someone to love him so badly it was physically painful—

Vlad furiously slammed his fist into his desk to quell the sudden torrent of disturbing urges. His jaw clenched, the pressure in his head and the pain in his hand helping to dull the nearly overwhelming cascade of emotions. His eye twitched once. Twice. He took a deep breath, and then another. Slowly, _slowly_, the feelings dissipated, then were gone. As if nothing had happened, he cleared his throat and straightened his tie before turning his attention back to the wounded woman before him.

"Now. Get. Out. Of. This. Office." Vlad's voice was raspy and strained, but deadly in its resolution. Maxine obliged, moving jerkily as if her limbs were much too heavy. Vlad made himself numb to her whimpering and to the heavy sobs she let fly once the door had closed behind her. He listened to her cries echo down the hallway before collapsing into his chair, completely exhausted and unable to feel a thing. Gazing detachedly at his surroundings, he noticed a small shadow cast onto the floor by a standing lamp, stretching lazily and deep into the carpet fibers. Transfixed, he stared at the point of darkness for a very long time.


	2. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

Hey again! Okay, so here's the first chapter. I've got the second one nearly finished, but after that updates will be a lot less frequent because classes have started again (COLLEGE. grrr....) and professors don't often offer leniency to those of us who'd rather be writing about fictional angsty billionaires instead of lab reports and term papers. I'll do my best to keep writing little by little; just bear with me. Also, please review if you can--it'll motivate me to write faster! Don't hesitate to mention things you'd like to see or offer any opinions on where you'd like this story to go, because truth be told, I don't know myself, and I'm open to your suggestions.

**I. Reunion**

A bright fork of lightning snaked through the sky, illuminating the partially flooded road Vlad was attempting to drive through. Long shadows were thrown up in the building windows on either side of him, forming twisted faces that stared down into the streets, silently mocking the few cars that dared to brave the treacherous weather. Vlad's lips turned down in a pout and he slowed to a halt at a light, drumming his fingers against the wheel. Of all the days to decide to drive… and he hadn't even bothered to check the forecast before leaving. Damn lake effect; if it wasn't cold enough to bury you in four feet of snow, it was drowning you in ten inches of rain.

Vlad sighed, leaning his head back in the seat and glaring at the still red light, attempting, to no avail, to will it to turn green. He let his mind begin to wander. He could have had his driver take him… he could have flown…. Vlad blinked. He could have literally _flown_.

But no. No. Vlad pushed the thoughts out of his mind, turning his attention back to the road. He hadn't used any serious ghost powers in a long number of months, and he wasn't going to start again now, regardless of whether or not Jack Fenton wanted to drag him back into the bizarre world of the paranormal. No. Driving was necessary; it helped to preserve the thin visage of normalcy Vlad had begun to erect in his life… and he wanted to drive himself because, well, he liked to drive. Vlad was sure he owned more cars than he knew about; it wasn't so awful to take one out for a spin every now and again. In fact, over the years he had found that driving was one thing he really missed.

With a powerful clap of thunder another shot of lightning arced through the clouds, illuminating the gawky, cobbled-together profile of Fenton Works just a few blocks in the distance. Vlad's stomach flopped inside him at the sight, and he internally grimaced at the reaction. He couldn't believe he was _nervous_. He hadn't felt nervous in a long time.

Hands tight on the wheel, Vlad eyed the crowded streets for a parking space as he drew near to his destination, but found none. It seemed every space on the block was occupied, and several people had double-parked. Grumbling, Vlad peered into the misted windows of Fenton Works as he rolled by, able to see nothing but dimly moving shapes. How many people did Jack and Maddie invite?

About a block down the street was a car parked at the curb at an angle that took two spaces. Vlad bit his lower lip and frowned. He didn't want to use his ghost powers… but maybe just this once. Glancing both ways down the street and thankful for the cover of rain, Vlad held out a hand and concentrated, his fingertips beginning to softly glow. With a quick flick of his wrist, the parked car lurched backwards several feet, rolling to a stop just inches from the truck behind it. Vlad smiled and turned his own wheel, performing a tricky little maneuver to slide himself into the newly made space.

"Idiot," he mumbled, glancing behind him as he stepped out of his car and popped open a large black umbrella. He swung the door shut and paced over to the meter, which he saw, much to his delight, still had three and a half hours in it. Vlad grinned. "Serves you right," he chuckled to the car he'd moved, now sitting in front of an empty meter. Straightening, he brushed a drop of water from the front of his coat, and, the determination in his stride revealing none of his internal reservations, made his way up the rainy street.

"V-MAN!" The front door of Fenton Works swung open to reveal a barrage of sound and a wall of solid orange. Before he had time to take in his surroundings, Vlad found himself engulfed in a suffocating bear hug that squeezed the air from his lungs and nearly caused him to drop his umbrella.

"Jack," Vlad wheezed, face pressed into his old friend's rubbery hazmat suit. Jack pulled away and beamed down at the disoriented Vlad, still gripping his shoulders. "You're, uh—" Vlad was going to say 'looking well,' but he found the wall of orange too distracting. "You're still wearing that hazmat suit." Jack grinned.

"I know! And you're wearing black!" He ruffled Vlad's coat and motioned at the umbrella. "Black is AWESOME. It reminds me of GHOSTS!"

Vlad managed a weak laugh as he allowed himself to be led inside, closing the dripping umbrella and running a hand through his damp silver hair.

"Maddie!" called Jack, turning over his shoulder and peering into the sea of faces, searching for his wife. "Vladdie's here!"

"Vlad?" Vlad's breath caught in his throat when he heard Maddie's voice, and in seconds her smiling face popped out of the kitchen door. She was as beautiful as ever. "Oh Vlad, I'm so glad you came! We've missed you." Maddie wove around several people before hugging him lightly and pecking him on the cheek. Vlad felt his ears turning pink and was suddenly grateful that the lighting in the entryway was low. Maddie smiled.

"Here," she said, motioning to his dripping outerwear. "Let me take those for you." Snapping himself out of his reverie, Vlad handed her the umbrella and shucked off his coat, revealing a white button down shirt layered with a rich burgundy sweater. He hadn't exactly known what to wear that morning and was suddenly conscious of his outfit. But, he reminded himself, the man and woman standing before him were wearing brightly colored hazmat suits, so really, nothing could've been too far off the mark.

"Oh wait," Vlad said, suddenly remembering his gift. He grabbed a fold of his coat from Maddie and reached into the pocket, drawing out a long black box. "Jack's present." He offered the box to Jack, who, face shining, inspected it closely before running to put it on a corner table with those he'd received from other guests.

"Thanks, V-Man!" he called, waving to Vlad before disappearing into a group of laughing people. Vlad stared after him, a bit lost. Being back around the Fentons was a strange kind of energy. He'd forgotten.

"Yes, really, thank you, Vlad," said Maddie softly, watching her husband sweetly before turning back to Vlad. "Jack's really missed you these past couple years. We all have." There was something odd in her voice. Something just a bit strained. Vlad was speechless. Maddie sighed, and a brief flash of nostalgia crossed her face before evaporating into a smile.

"Well," she said brightly, waving her arm to invite him in to the house proper. "Settle in, have a drink. Our home is your home. I've got to get back to the kitchen." And she waved to him, darting back and out of sight.

Vlad was floored. He stood motionless, shrouded in shadows, mouth slightly agape and staring into house. Something was fighting its way through his subconscious, something ineffable. Battling the urge to turn around and leave immediately, Vlad inched his way into the house. Moving carefully, he took precaution to keep from touching anyone and from attracting any attention, all while keeping his movements calm and suave. He'd attended—and hosted—enough corporate galas to know how to do so with skill.

Reaching a table covered with a wide assortment of refreshments, Vlad eyed several bottles of wine before sidling forth a few inches and picking one up by the neck. He couldn't see the label clearly—damn low lights; he needed his glasses—but he could see enough to know it was cheap. He frowned but poured a glass for himself anyways; he'd need _something_ to help get through this. Edging into a nook of the room, Vlad took a sip, surveying his surroundings over the rim of the glass.

The room was decorated with several strings of colored, plastic lights, paper streamers woven around and through the cords. Vlad couldn't help but smile when he noticed that the plastic coverings around the lights were molded into ghost shapes. A large banner draped itself across the entryway to the room, actually _nailed _into the wall—Vlad sighed; Jack's doing, of course—upon which was painted, "HAPPY 5OTH BIRHDAY, JACK!" The banner, too, was decorated with tiny ghosts, and Vlad noticed in one corner a crudely drawn Jack blasting one into ectoplasmic goo with some kind of unidentifiable and crudely drawn gun. He certainly was back at the Fentons'.

Sighing and taking another sip of wine, Vlad carefully inspected the faces of the other partygoers, surprised to find he recognized many of them. Most were old friends from college; some he had even known quite well. There was Angie Turlin, laughing with Toby… Toby something, he couldn't remember; and that was Nate, his old roommate from sophomore year, grinning with his arm around a blonde woman who must have been his current wife. And there was Charlie, there was Francine, and that was Rob… or Rick, he couldn't remember which.

More and more names floated up from his memory, and with every old acquaintance he remembered, Vlad felt himself drawing further into the nook, desperate to avoid these people he'd never thought he'd see again. The memories they unearthed were just too damned uncomfortable….

"Ack!" Vlad stumbled, nearly falling backwards through the wall—

Wait. _Through the wall? He'd been phasing through the wall—?_

"Shit," Vlad cursed softly, grimacing and focusing his energy, forcing his body to fully solidify. It had been years since he'd lost control of his powers like that. It had been decades. He suddenly felt disoriented and drained. And claustrophobic. Fuck, he just wanted to be out of this place so badly—

"Vladimir!" A thick Russian accent and a hearty laugh greeted Vlad as a stout, red-faced man clad in a t-shirt and corduroy jacket bobbed over to him and cuffed him on the shoulder. "Vladimir Masters, well I'll be damned – I didn't know you were here!"

Vlad felt his pulse quicken and his stomach turn at the sudden attention, but years of public training kept his face clean of fluster and surprise.

"Alex." He smiled serenely down at the man, who he saw had already had more than enough to drink. "It's certainly been a while."

"Damn straight it has, you son of a bitch," Alex laughed, his speech slipping into his native tongue. He clipped Vlad on the shoulder again. "I haven't seen you in twenty-five years! I've heard about you, though, the famous Vlad Masters – just how rich are you now?" Vlad cringed internally; he really didn't want to talk about his financial situation. And that in and of itself was odd—usually, Vlad was more than comfortable boasting about his wealth, but here, surrounded by people who knew him before his success, he found his money just felt like a burden.

"Uh, well, I get by—"

"I'll bet you do! Alright now, c'mon," Alex said, placing a palm on Vlad's back and steering him towards an open space on a nearby couch. "We have some catching up to do!"

"Mm- well- I—" stammered Vlad, all too conscious of several pairs of eyes upon him. Eyes that recognized him. But finding himself at a loss, he relented and allowed himself to sit down with Alex. The conversation they struck up quickly deteriorated into a tipsy Alex speaking animatedly of his new theories on ghost detection and capture, a torrent of words, some in English, some in Russian, thinly interspersed with the occasional noncommittal noise from Vlad. Soon, others joined the conversation, offering their knowledge on the paranormal, and in no time at all Vlad found himself an unwilling participant in a drunken round-table discussion on ghosts.

Face now visibly displeased, Vlad scooted himself as best he could to the far end of the couch, away from those that were screaming the loudest. He tipped his glass to his lips, upset to find it empty. Wonderful. Fucking wonderful. Hungrily eyeing the table of refreshments across the room, Vlad had just begun to extricate himself from the crowd of ghost enthusiasts when he saw a bottle of wine and six-pack of beer scoot across the table _of their own accord_ and promptly disappear. Vlad smirked.

"Really, now, Daniel…" he murmured, training his eyes on the spot and bringing them into careful focus. Slowly, the vague outline of a gangly young man sporting a shock of wild hair wavered into view. His features were pale, blurry and distorted, as though Vlad was viewing him through a pane of uneven glass. Even after years of practice, it was the best Vlad could do at seeing the invisible.

Suddenly, a misty oval—all Vlad could make of the boy's face—shot up in surprise, looking directly at Vlad.

_Sensed me, did you?_ Thought Vlad, arching an eyebrow and grinning darkly at the boy. The blurry form swirled and shot up into the air, through the ceiling and to the floor above. _Good for you…. _

Vlad continued to stare at the ceiling for a few more moments before shifting his gaze to the group of people still arguing around him. He noticed that several of them were wearing small black buttons with the phrase "STOP GHOSTS!" stamped across the front. Scoffing, Vlad rolled his eyes, resting his chin in his hand and watching for the opportune moment to take his leave. Luckily, it came to him.

"Dinner is served!" called Maddie cheerily, stepping into the room, oven mitts still covering her hands. Smiling, she waved them into the kitchen before turning to the stairs. "Danny?" she called up into the second level. "Dinner, honey!"

"Awesome!" Jack leapt up from his seat and led the progression of guests as they slowly filed into the room. Vlad was jostled by those around him in their eagerness to nab a plate, and found himself vaguely reminded of a herd of animals being led to the trough for their meal. However, when he spied the kitchen table decked out with a magnificent spread of food, he couldn't help but smile and grab a plate himself. Maddie certainly was a great cook. Vlad helped himself to a bit of everything, casting social etiquette aside, at least for the moment.

It was as he was scooping a small portion of an interesting looking pasta salad onto his plate that Vlad saw Danny for the first time that night as he ambled into the room, followed closely by Sam and Tucker. At least, he assumed those were whom he was seeing; it had only been a couple of years, but the appearances of all three had changed dramatically. Danny was taller; nearly as tall as Vlad himself, still thin and wiry but now with a defined and pointed appearance. His dark hair was longer, too, not by much, but enough to give it the appearance of having grown into its unruliness. And his wardrobe! Vlad arched a brow at Danny's tight black jeans, violently yellow shirt and the purple and black plaid scarf wrapped around his neck. Several earrings glinted in his upper ear, and one, Vlad saw as he looked closer, in his eyebrow. Interesting….

He shifted his attention to Sam and Tucker, who, to his surprise, were standing arm in arm and shooting coy glances at one another as they waited in line. Sam's hair was chopped close to her head and was dyed a ferocious shade of neon purple—it nearly matched the color of Danny's scarf—and her body was wrapped in a haphazard and obviously hand sewn black dress, torn in places to reveal several tattoos. A pair of heavy combat boots completed her ensemble, very possibly the same ones she was wearing when Vlad saw her last. And Tucker? Well, he still looked like a nerd, but one who'd taken a lesson from Danny's hair and simply grown into his awkwardness. He'd switched his red beret for a black ivy cap and had donned a loose-fitting white dress shirt and tie. He'd also replaced his thick, boxy glasses for a slimmed-down and more refined pair, a pair that reminded Vlad of his own.

All three were clearly drunk.

Vlad sighed, shifting backwards so others could reach the table and turning to find an isolated place to sit in the living room. He felt oddly nostalgic at the thought that the old trio of ghost fighting teenagers he'd so often battled were gone, wiped clear away by time, replaced with three entirely different adults. But that's what he'd wanted, right? He'd _wanted _to never see them again. That was the whole point…. Vlad slumped on the couch, lost in thought. He didn't even sense Danny until the boy was right behind him.

"So," drawled the familiar voice, dripping with its usual sarcasm. It was deeper than Vlad remembered. "Vlad Masters finally crawls out of his hidey hole to grace the Fenton's with his presence." Danny plopped onto a chair a couple feet from Vlad, turning it first so he could sit on it backwards, his chin on the backrest.

"Daniel," replied Vlad through gritted teeth, his face displeased and his voice flat. "What a pleasure to see you again. Really."

"Aw, come on," said Danny, grinning crookedly. "You can't say you haven't missed me. We haven't seen each other in _ages_."

"Yeah, a real shame, that," said Vlad blandly, poking at his food. He noted Danny's movements as the boy stealthily ran his eyes over a tall and mildly effeminate guest before turning back to his plate and shoving a forkful of chicken into his mouth.

"It is, though," Danny said, swallowing. "I really missed kicking your ass." Vlad's expression hardened.

"Ooh, it's your angry face." Danny chuckled. "How I've missed it. You're so cute when you're pissed." Vlad's fork froze halfway to his mouth.

"What?"

Danny just started to say something but was interrupted by Jack, who, having finished gobbling down his meal, had burst into the room with an armful of gifts.

"Presents!" he cried happily, his face glowing like that of a child's on Christmas morning. He wedged himself into a spot on the couch, dropping the boxes in a heap around him.

"Oh, Jack," Maddie said, glancing over at him. "People haven't even finished eating. And there's still the cake—"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Mads," Nick burst out from across the room. He swayed as he spoke, and Vlad noticed a half-finished glass of wine in his hand. "Jack, open mine first."

"Will do!" laughed Jack, fishing through the boxes for Nick's present, and, upon finding it, reducing the wrapping to shreds in a matter of seconds.

What followed was a rowdy opening of Jack's gifts. Paper and bows flew everywhere, lids were torn off boxes, and the guests (excluding Vlad), some already quite drunk and all excited by the new gadgets and ghost equipment the others had given their friend, joined Jack in the ripping and tearing, so that when a new gift was unearthed it was descended upon like a carcass by hungry vultures. Needless to say, Vlad watched from the couch, a newly procured glass of much needed wine in hand, keeping a safe distance from the chaos. Soon though, Vlad saw Jack come up from the littering of papers holding a thin black box. Vlad's gift.

Vlad watched, detached from those around him and yet still faintly anxious, as Jack and the other guests tore the ribbon off the box and tossed the top away.

"Alright, V-man!" Jack said, pushing back the tissue paper and uncovering the object inside. "You got me a… a…." Vlad saw an expression of confusion spread across Jack's face as the man pulled a long, slender knife from the box.

"Oh wow," muttered Danny softly, laughter in his voice. "A knife? Seriously? How transparent of you." Vlad glared at him before turning back to Jack, who was inspecting the gift, puzzled.

"Soooo…. you got me a sword?"

"It's technically a knife, not a sword, Jack," Vlad said, standing up and crossing the room. He deftly plucked the thing from Jack's hands and slipped it out of the hilt; shards of light danced across the polished double-edged metal. "But it's what inside this knife that makes it important."

Grasping either side of the blade with his forefingers and thumbs, Vlad pulled smartly, splitting the blade apart down the middle several centimeters. An assortment of oohs and aahs ran through the crowd as they saw what lay inside the hollow metal: a delicate and complex piece of electronic hardware that blinked and whirred to life as the knife was opened. Vlad handed it back to Jack for the stunned man and other guests to inspect.

"Cool!" he heard Tucker exclaim from the crowd.

"But what is it, Vlad?" asked Maddie, staring intently at the object over Jack's shoulder.

"It's a little bit of technology that keeps ghosts pinned in this corporeal plane," Vlad explained. He felt a smile tug at his lips as everyone leaned in closer to inspect the knife, their interest piqued now that they knew it had something to do with the supernatural. "And something that forces them to adhere to the physical laws of this universe." All eyes in the room shot up to him.

"That's impossible," came a voice from the crowd. "Ghosts aren't of this universe. They originate in the Ghost Zone, a universe parallel to ours which operates under its own set of physics—"

"Oh shut up," an agitated voice interrupted her. "Not that damned theory again; you know you don't have a shred of evidence to substantiate it—"

"The initial mathematics make sense!" shouted the woman, defending herself, but she quieted as Vlad raised his hands to quell the argument.

"Whatever you choose to believe regarding ghosts," he said, "the fact of the matter is that this device prevents ghosts from using any supernatural powers they may possess. The only requirement for this device to work is that it pierce the fabric of the ghost, which allows it to interrupt the ghost's spectral form. That's why I built it into a knife. In time and as technology improves, I expect this device could be made smaller, small enough outfit something a bit less archaic… bullets, perhaps."

"Vlad," said Maddie, awe in her voice. "Do you know what a breakthrough this is? If this device really works like you say it does, it would revolutionize the science of ghost hunting!"

"Well, it's only a prototype, just something I started a few years ago on my own," said Vlad, a bit flattered by her words but trying not to let it show. "In any case, I'm giving it to you and Jack to perfect."

"Well it's a wonderful gift," said Maddie warmly, hugging Jack around his neck. "Thank you, Vlad."

"Yeah, thanks, Vladdie!" said Jack, leaping up and vigorously shaking Vlad's hand. "With this thing, the ghosts won't stand a chance!"

"Uh, you're welcome—"

"I think this calls for a celebration!" Jack interrupted, breaking away from Vlad and heading to the bar, where he pulled out a rather large bottle of tequila. "Shots all around!" Several cheers and a smattering of applause broke out from the crowd. Vlad's face fell. He could barely stifle a grimace.

"Drink up, V-man!" said Jack, weaving through the crowd with two cups and shoving one into Vlad's hands. He downed his drink and looked to Vlad expectantly. Vlad dubiously peered into the cup.

"This is a bit more than a shot, Jack." It was, in fact, a lot more.

"I don't remember that ever scaring you when we were younger," Jack shot back, winking. He laughed and clapped Vlad on the back. "Anyways, it doesn't matter. It's my birthday. Drink."

Vlad hesitated, but tipped his head back and downed the glass, wincing slightly as the hard liquor scalded the back of this throat.

"There ya go, Vladdie!" Jack grabbed Vlad's cup and turned back to the bar.

"Now wait a minute, Jack," Vlad called after him. "I did drive here tonight, and I do intend on making it _home_ tomorrow, not to a morgue and not this floor." Jack grinned.

"Now, again, I don't remember any of this scaring you before—"

"Jack…" warned Vlad.

"But, I suppose that if you're that concerned, you'll just have to stay the night." Vlad balked. Shit. That wasn't what he was after at all.

"Oh, god, no—I mean, I mean, I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome," Vlad sputtered, trying to find a way out of the invitation. He couldn't bear the thought of being trapped in this house for the entire night.

"Nonsense," said Jack, returning with another round of drinks, pushing his back effortlessly before turning to Vlad. "I was hoping you'd stay a while, anyways. I thought we could use some catching up." And the look he gave Vlad, even through his drunken haze, was such a look of resigned sadness and hopeful expectation that before Vlad realized what he was doing, he found himself nodding in agreement. He took the drink from Jack.

"Okay, sure. If you insist," he mumbled, instantly regretting his decision. As Jack smiled and turned to the other guests, Vlad drank heavily from his cup. He'd need it, he really would.

"I'll need to do something with my car," he rasped, gripping a nearby chair to steady himself. "I can't leave it out on the street all night."

"Park it in the back," Jack called, already on his third glass. He waved about wildly, attempting to point Vlad in the right direction and failing completely. "There's a lot back there where they won't ticket you."

Vlad nodded, setting down his cup somewhere and heading for the door. Everything seemed very loud and very close. He couldn't believe he had agreed to stay… agreed stay here in the one place he'd do anything to escape. But that look in Jack's eyes—it tugged at a very tender place in his heart, a place that had gone untapped for many years. Vlad rubbed his temples, frowning. It was an uncomfortable feeling and he didn't appreciate it at all. Fortunately, the alcohol was beginning to take effect, helping to numb the niggling awareness at the back of his mind that he might be desperate for, if he was brave enough to admit it, _friendship_. But he wasn't; of course not, he wasn't even willing to admit that that's what it was, and Vlad pulled open the front door, letting the sting of the cold air bite into his skin and wash away the thoughts. Shuddering, he fumbled in his pockets for his keys and stepped into the night, closing the door behind him.


	3. Weird Transaction

**Author's Note:**

Ooohhh. VladxDanny interaction. Bet you guys will like that.

**II. Weird Transaction**

Climbing up the last steps to the front door, Vlad stopped short when from the corner of his eye he spied a small bead of gold light flare and quickly fizzle in the darkness of the side alley. He paused for a moment at the door, debating, before turning back down the steps and into the street.

"You know that stuff'll kill you," Vlad murmured snarkily into the shadows. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he saw the outline of Danny's thin figure shift as the boy leaned back against a damp brick wall.

"Yeah, well…." Danny took a long drag on his cigarette, dousing the pair in a moment of silence. "We'll see." He took a look at Vlad, blue eyes flashing even in the weak light. "What do you want?" Vlad smirked.

"What do you think?" Danny stared at him a moment and scoffed.

"I think you really need to learn to ask for things like a normal human being," he drawled, fag clenched between his teeth. But there was a conciliatory look in his face, and even as he spoke he reached into his coat pocket for another cigarette, handing it to Vlad. "Need a light?"

"Thanks."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"Nor I you, and for your information I haven't in a long time. After tonight, though…." Vlad waved a hand at the house. Danny grinned.

"Tell me about it."

They stood still for several minutes, slouched against their respective walls, enjoying the peace and quiet and drinking in the cool, post-thunderstorm air. The oddity of the situation struck Vlad—he and Danny had been locked in mortal combat countless times, had been sworn enemies, had deceived and hurt and maimed and literally tried to kill one another… and yet here they both were, relaxed, composed, almost at ease. And drunk, but still, the circumstances weren't awkward, and that was really something. As if perhaps their shared history, while violent, gave them a shared understanding of each other—

"So," Danny said, breaking the silence. "How'd you see me in there?" Vlad grinned, staring off into the street.

"Oh. That." He watched in the distance a stray cat padded its way from one patch of darkness and disappeared into the next. "You know, your parents wouldn't be very pleased to learn what you were doing up there," he leered at the boy.

"Fuck you. You gonna _tell _on me?" Vlad's smirk evaporated off his face, struck by a weirdly humbling flash of déjà vu. He stuffed his fingers under his arms to warm them and turned away from Danny, trying to disguise his confliction with indifference.

"No."

"So tell me how you did it." Vlad took a drag before answering.

"I can see invisible things," he said nonchalantly.

"Huh," said Danny, thinking. There was a long pause in which neither man spoke. "New power?" Vlad shrugged.

"Not really. It's more like a skill I've developed and honed over time." He paused, thinking to himself. "I think it's mostly a matter of knowing what to look for."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"But really, Daniel," said Vlad, grinning faintly at the boy and taking a drag. "I'm more surprised by you. Drinking, smoking…when did you become such a little deviant? I thought you were the town hero. You know. _Danny Phantom_, saving the day and all that_. _Quite the model citizen." Danny tapped the butt of his cigarette, watching the smoldering embers fall before responding.

"Yeah, well, I don't do much of that stuff anymore." There was a gritty, resentful tone in his voice.

"Oh?"

"So? You don't, either."

"I wasn't criticizing you, Daniel. There's no need to be so _defensive_." Vlad was mocking the boy, but only halfway and mostly out of habit. The truth was that he was curious to hear more.

Danny peered closely at Vlad, examining him. Vlad got the sense the boy was sizing him up, deciding whether or not to tell him his story. Finally Danny sighed, looking despondently away.

"Leaving for school last year let me finally escape all this," he mumbled, voice flat, motioning up at the various electronic apparatus' whirring and glowing atop the building. "I mean, I love mom and dad and everything, but seriously." Danny motioned more angrily, unsure of how to properly articulate his thoughts.

Vlad smiled softly. He understood better than anyone how overbearing Jack and even Maddie, who was usually so much more sensible, could be when it came to ghosts. To have to grow up surrounded by that kind of obsession… well, it certainly wasn't something Vlad wanted to experience firsthand.

"And you know what's ironic?" Danny continued. "Turns out that the reason Amity Park was such a hotspot for ghost activity was because Mom and Dad were here ghost hunting. They were trying to keep ghosts from attacking people, but I mean, let's be honest, they weren't really that good at it. All they were really doing was riling up the dead, upsetting them and making and vindictive," he spat, tossing the end of his cigarette to the ground and squashing it under his shoe. Vlad arched a brow.

"I mean, ghosts are just spirits stranded between this world and whatever comes next, right? They're already trapped in what must be the worst kind of purgatory, separated from the living but unable to find peace. They sure as hell don't need my parents chasing after them, ready to dissect and destroy their souls. Their souls are all they have left!" Danny stared grimly into the distance, taking a deep breath to calm down. "I think most ghosts just want to be left alone." He nudged a bit of gravel with his shoe. "That's what my parents can't understand."

"Daniel…."

Vlad was taken aback by the boy's jaded attitude. Cynicism and doubt about the nature of the supernatural and his role within it was so unlike everything he had come to expect from the boy. He waited, figuring Danny was only opening up to him because he needed someone to talk to. Vlad supposed he didn't mind being that person. There was a long, heavy silence before Danny continued.

"But once I left for college, I realized how much I had missed being normal. Ghost powers are great for getting out of a tight spot, but it was wonderful to just be able to walk down the street and not have to worry about getting jumped by a gang of vicious little specters, or about having to manage school, sleep, and a social life around ghost fighting, or about having to juggle a secret identity…." He grinned darkly. "So I quit Danny Phantom and I never looked back."

"Anyways," Danny shrugged, "Mom and Dad really had to pick up the slack here once I moved out, to cover all the ghost attacks I'd been taking care of. I have to admit, given that pressure, they really got their shit together quick. The city put them on permanent commission last year. I don't even know how they were making money before." He sighed. "So the truth is that I don't feel too guilty about my decision. It's turned out for the best." Another pause.

"Dad likes the knife," Danny said suddenly, changing the subject. Vlad shrugged.

"Perhaps he shouldn't thank me just yet. I told him it's a prototype; I never got it to function properly myself. The circuits always shorted…. Perhaps he and your mother will get it working, though."

"Ooh, and then they might upstage you, Vlad," said Danny sarcastically. Vlad frowned. "Would that upset you?" The boy laughed. "Would that just be really _distressing_?"

"Daniel, really—"

"Would it?"

The conversation was interrupted by a loud crash and raucous peal of laughter that rumbled out from somewhere within the building. Both men frowned. Vlad noticed his cigarette had burnt out in his hand and cast it to the ground.

"Crazy little fuckers," Danny grumbled, shifting his weight and running a hand through his dark hair. "They'll be so hung over tomorrow they won't be able to stand." Vlad chuckled, remembering Danny's flushed face when he came into the kitchen.

"People who live in glass houses, Daniel…." The younger man shot him a cold look.

"Hey, don't get all incredulous on me—"

"Ooh, I see we're using big words today?"

"Shut up. My _point_ is that I drink enough to know my limitations. My parents, on the other hand… well, let's just say that they don't party very often, but when they do they really party hard. It's not a pretty sight. If you're still hot for mom, just wait until you see her tomorrow; it'll be the biggest turn off of your life." Danny was laughing to himself, but quieted when he noticed Vlad's suddenly reserved expression.

"Have you, uh… have you still got a thing for her?" Vlad felt his body seize.

"What kind of question is that?" he muttered dismissively, waving his hand to try and brush it away.

"One you're trying to evade. Answer me."

"I will _not_ discuss this with you, Daniel." Vlad heard the edge in his voice, but the boy was not deterred.

"Why not? You nearly killed me about eight hundred times to get at her; I think I have a right to know."

"Daniel, I'm serious—"

"So am I!"

"DANIEL!"

"DO YOU LOVE MADDIE FENTON?"

Vlad stared at Danny, seething with rage and unsure of how to respond. On one hand he wanted to punch the boy, wanted to rip him limb from limb for daring to ask a question that prodded into the most painful recesses of his soul. And with that snarky little smile… god, he could just kill the boy. Right now. Here. Blood would be everywhere. He felt the familiar rush to defend himself clench his fists and set his jaw, and he very nearly went ghost.

And yet, cradled in cold and darkness and after a few glasses of wine, Vlad found, for the first time in his life, that anger too difficult to maintain. It twisted and writhed out of his grasp, dissipating into the night, leaving him feeling defenseless, and, somehow, _better_. Vlad opened and closed his mouth several times before the answer he'd been harboring for so long came to him.

"I- I- I don't…I don't know, Daniel. It's complicated."

Vlad was aware that he'd sunk to the ground only after realizing he was talking to Danny's shins instead of his face. What was he saying? He loved Maddie, right? Right? But even as he thought it he knew it wasn't true. He didn't love Maddie, and he hadn't loved her for a very long time. And yet how was that possible? It wasn't. It couldn't be. How else could he explain the way he felt when he heard Maddie's voice over the phone… when he saw her for the first time tonight… when she had hugged him and kissed his cheek….

"You okay?" Vlad came to his senses and found Danny hunched over in front of him, offering Vlad a hand off the grimy cement. Gritting his teeth and hating himself for appearing weak, Vlad allowed the young man to help pull himself to his feet. Habitually brushing himself off, Vlad cleared his throat and made to step away from the wall, only to find Danny still standing close in front of him, a quizzical and closed expression clouding his face.

"Is that why you stopped using your ghost powers?" Danny asked softly, his blue eyes boring into Vlad's.

"Daniel, I- I—" Vlad spluttered, thrown by Danny's sudden proximity. His mind blanked and he couldn't think straight. "Wha- what did you ask me?"

"Why did you stop. Using. Your. Ghost. Powers." Danny sidled even closer to Vlad, prompting the man to press himself into the wall behind him in an attempt to back away. His head was spinning. Danny's face was just inches from his own, white teeth flashing in a dangerously seductive grin—

"I'm glad you told me the truth, Vlad, and I'm glad you came tonight," Danny cooed, running a long finger around the collar of Vlad's shirt and down his chest. "Because I really got to missing you--"

And with that Danny leaned in to Vlad, pressing his chest against him, nuzzling his face into the crook of Vlad's shoulder—

Brushing soft lips against his skin, kissing him there—

Running the tip of a warm, moist tongue against his neck, drawing a line up to his ear—

Vlad tipped his head back, his breathing shallow. Pressed up against the brick, he heard a heady groan escape his throat, because God, it felt so good, it felt like fire, those lips on his neck and those hands crawling across his body, crawling down to the waistband of his pants—

Vlad's eyes flashed open and his stomach lurched as he realized what he was doing.

"Daniel… Daniel, stop." He knocked away a hand that was groping his ass, but Danny only pressed into Vlad further, back arching, grinding their crotches together—

"Oh for god sakes, Daniel!" cried Vlad. "STOP IT." Becoming intangible, he phased

through Danny and turned on his heel, grabbing the boy by his neck and slamming him face first into the wall. The boy grunted in pain.

"What the hell was that? What the _fuck_ were you thinking?" Vlad whipped Danny around and glared into his face. The boy's nose was bleeding freely from its impact with the wall but he seemed otherwise unperturbed. "_Well?"_ Danny pursed his lips in a coy smile.

"I suppose I was thinking you make me pretty horny," he purred. Vlad was completely disarmed. His grip on Danny weakened and his arm fell limply to his side.

"What?"

"Oh, come on, Vlad," Danny hissed aggressively, grabbing each side of Vlad's collar with both hands and pulling Vlad close. "Touch me. Put your hands on me, damnit!" His body arched into Vlad's again, twisting his arms around his neck and grabbing tight fistfuls of his hair, ripping it from his ponytail.

"_DANIEL!_" Vlad again pushed the boy off of him, stepping backwards. "Really. I'm not interested." But those long fingers running down his body… those soft lips…. Vlad shook his head, desperately trying to shake the arousing images and keep the tightness brewing in his stomach from spreading. "I'm not interested," he finally repeated.

"Fucking liar," Danny answered, irritation in his voice. He threw his hands on his hips and took a step towards Vlad. "Don't even try to tell me you've never fucked a guy before."

Vlad blinked. The truth is that he had… had fucked and _been _fucked….

"That's not the point!"

"Then what's the problem?" Danny took another step. Once again they were mere inches apart….

"You're drunk, Daniel. That's why you're doing this."

"I am _not_," said the outraged boy. "And that's not why!"

"You are. And it is."

"Well you're drunk, too! So come _on!_" Danny growled, making a grab for Vlad's shirt. Vlad swatted his hand away.

"Daniel, really. I- I'm old enough to be your father!"

"Good thing you don't look it."

"Wha—? Stop it, Daniel. Are- Are you even legal?" The boy gaped in mock surprise.

"Vlad Masters follows the law?" he half-whispered. "I thought you kinda had a get out of jail free card when you had a lot of money."

"Daniel, first off that's completely ridiculous, and I- I- I don't- I don't even know why I asked—"

"I do…."

"—because I am _certainly_ not going to—" Vlad's exasperated words were hushed as Danny put a finger to his lips.

"You don't have to worry; you're in luck!" he whispered. "I'm twenty."

Danny leaned fervently into Vlad; the older man could feel the boy's hot breath on his neck, his lips slowly, slowly sucking a sensitive spot behind his ear, sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine. Whatever retort Vlad had planned evaporated instantly from his thoughts.

"Ah- oh, god, Daniel," Vlad whispered, hearing his own breathing become jagged and shallow. He knew he shouldn't, knew it was wrong, and yet that knowledge only turned him on even more….

"Now I'm only going to ask you once more," Danny said between kisses and nips at Vlad's neck. His hands ran up under Vlad's sweater, pushing it up his body. "And this time I want you to quit being such a little pussy and really fuck me."

"Here?" But Vlad was finding Danny's lithe body too much to resist, and he felt his own hands dip into Danny's coat, snaking up his back and pulling the boy into him, eliciting a deep sigh of pleasure from the young man. He buried his face in Danny's hair, breathing in its musky scent. Danny tipped his head up.

"Why not?" His lips brushed Vlad's as he spoke, teasing him. Vlad dug his nails into the boy's back.

"This is an alley," Vlad murmured, though he wasn't sure if he was debating with the boy or with himself. He could smell the coppery twang of blood dripping from the young man's nose.

"I'm aware of that, Vlad." Danny chuckled and licked Vlad's cheek, forming a line that ran painfully close to his mouth.

_Oh, god, _thought Vlad, suddenly filled with the savage urge to shove the boy against a wall and fuck him so hard he screamed. _You little shit. You know _exactly _what you're doing…._

And Vlad found himself thrusting his lips onto Danny's mouth, kissing him so hard and so suddenly he felt the boy gasp beneath him. Forcing his tongue into the young man's mouth, Vlad dragged them both backwards, finding the wall behind them and sinking into it, happy for the extra support. Groaning loudly as he felt Danny's tongue respond, Vlad melted into the boy, tasting him, a mixture of blood and cigarette smoke and the bitter remnants of dry wine, a truly disgusting concoction that was somehow, in the heat of the moment, unnervingly erotic.

Vlad felt Danny groping him, fumbling with the buckle of his pants, and, all hesitation and logic cast aside, hastily followed suit. Vlad was faster and found he had the boy's tight little pants pulled down to his knees before Danny had even managed to unzip him. Danny squirmed and mewled and ground his hips into Vlad's, panting, desperate to get closer to the older man.

In a spasm of red electric heat, both men gasped as their swelling erections brushed against one another through thin layers of cotton. A garbled cry flew from Danny's lips at the touch, and as his body reacted to the pleasure his teeth clenched, biting down hard on the tip of Vlad's tongue.

"Damnit," growled Vlad, angrily twisting the boy about him and smashing him into the wall. His mouth clamped down on Danny's neck, and with a newfound animalistic brutality Vlad bit into the soft flesh, breaking skin and relishing in the taste of blood.

"Ah!" cried Danny, his strangled cry cutting the damp air. He hissed in pain but only dug his nails further into Vlad, twisting a leg around the older man and snapping a fastened button from his shirt.

"That's right, Vlad," Danny moaned, fisting his hair and thrusting their hips together again. "Punish me. Punish me for being bad."

Wriggling his arms, Danny slipped off his jacket before grabbing a handful of Vlad's sweater and phasing it straight through his skin, letting it fall to the ground. Vlad grinned, delighting in the rush of freezing air that danced up his sensitized skin.

"You want me to punish you?" Vlad asked, coming up from a deep kiss. His free hand – the hand not pinning Danny to the wall – slid lazily down the young man's now exposed and heaving chest, toying with the elastic of his boxers, tugging at the dark hairs growing there.

"Y-Y-Yes," Danny panted, barely able to form words. "G-God, yes." He gritted his teeth and hissed in pleasure.

"What was that?" Vlad smirked, drinking in the boy's tortured reaction as his fingers dipped lower, just shy of his throbbing member.

"Damnit, Vlad," whimpered Danny. "Don't tease me."

"But I thought you said you wanted to be punished." Even through the fog of his arousal, Danny's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Son of a bitch. You know what I meant." Vlad looked up, locking eyes with Danny. The boy was panting and mostly naked, thick locks of dark hair plastered to his face with beads of hot sweat. Trails of blood ran from his nose and neck, smearing his skin and staining his shirt…. And his eyes, so suddenly deep and fierce and pleading, practically _begging _Vlad to fuck him senseless…. How could he resist?

"Fine."

In one solid movement, Vlad's leg shot out, sweeping under Danny's feet and sending the boy crashing onto the grimy alley street. The young man let out a muffled yelp as he hit the ground, dazed, fingers scrabbling at concrete. Vlad knelt and straddled the boy, grabbing his hair and yanking it to roll Danny onto his back. The young man grimaced.

"Fuck… that hurt." Vlad grinned, leaning into him.

"Good."

Vlad smashed his lips into Danny's, invading his mouth and stifling a loud groan as his hand wove its way into the boy's shorts, fingers tangling in the course hair before latching onto his hardened cock—

Damn, he was going to take this boy, right now, here, enveloped in the darkness of this dingy alley. He was going to fuck him and make him scream his name, because god, he wanted this boy so badly, wanted him more intensely than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, and nothing, _nothing _was going to stop him—

"V-Man!" The front door to Fenton Works swung open, flooding the adjacent street in light. Vlad and Danny froze, breath caught in their throats. The passion they'd been so consumed by just seconds before evaporated into the night. "Vladdie, ya out here?"

From their nook in the alley the two men could just barely make out the hulking shadow of Jack Fenton spread as the man clambered down the stoop, grasping onto the railing for support.

"Shit," muttered Danny, pushing a still flabbergasted Vlad off his chest. "Shit, shit shit, shit, shit…." He hitched up his pants and grabbed his jacket as Vlad scrambled off the ground and zipped his fly.

"Vlad?" Jack was stumbling about the front of the building, nearing the corner of the alley—

"Get inside," Vlad breathed, barely able to think, let alone plan a convincing cover. With a grunt he shoved Danny in the direction of the wall. It never even occurred to Vlad to escape himself. Wordlessly, the boy leapt high into the air, his form fading from sight just as Jack's head popped around the corner.

"Vladdie!" yelled Jack, his jubilant and obviously slurred voice echoing off brick and pavement. He made for Vlad, using the wall to stabilize himself. "Whuddaya doin' out… out—" he looked around as if realizing where he was for the first time that night before shrugging and smiling back at Vlad "—out here?"

Vlad was pissed. He was beyond pissed. Of all the times and places, and _Jack_, that fucking son of a bitch, he'd give him a piece of his mind—

In that instant Vlad realized just how much of a mess he looked, and a wave of panic washed over him, superseding his anger. He was suddenly all too aware of his sweater lying four feet away from him on the street; of the fact that his collared shirt was rumpled, untucked, halfway open and missing a button; that the knees of his trousers were stained from kneeling on the ground; that half his hair hung free from his ponytail around his face, which was flushed and sweaty.

"Parking my car," Vlad said after a moment's hesitation, trying to make his demeanor as convincing as possible. He forced a look of abject boredom onto his face, hoping it would be enough to make the drunken man before him overlook the fact that he'd been gone nearly an hour and looked very much as though he'd been caught in the middle of a passionate and horribly unexpected bout of sex. Which was of course the truth.

"What's goin' on with your hair?" Jack asked, stopping just a few feet from Vlad.

"Uh…." Vlad's usually quick and calculating mind flew to pieces.

Jack eyed him peculiarly, as though not quite sure what he was seeing. Vlad swallowed hard, his throat dry, trying to think of some way to explain himself and coming up with nothing. Suddenly Jack grinned.

"Glad to see you're letting it down," he laughed, draping an arm across Vlad's shoulders, who nearly collapsed under its weight. "Just like the good old days, huh?"

"Seriously?" Vlad mumbled to himself, dazed by his good luck. "Oh my god…." He was still angry, but knowing that he had just gotten away with something like, well, something like _that_… it was enough to make anyone giddy.

"Yeah," answered Jack, mistaking Vlad's words for conversation. "I remember you used to have hair that went down to your elbows. It was crazy!" Slowly, Vlad helping to guide the haphazard Jack, they made their way out of the alley to the front of the house.

"Actually, Jack," said Vlad as he helped the man up the steps. "My hair was short in college. You're thinking of Tom."

"No, c'mon, remember? I'm talking about before college, when we were like sixteen. We went to that party and it caught on fire! HA! That was hilarious!" Vlad rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples. That was not a memory he often liked to invoke.

"It was _not_ hilarious—"

"Yes it was! We laughed so hard—"

"We were high, Jack! God, why am I even arguing about this with you?" Jack laughed.

"Who was Tom?" he asked after calming down.

"Tom. _Tom_, Jack. C'mon, you remember him. He worked in the physics lab and wouldn't ever book us for our research because he didn't think ghosts were a _serious area of scientific investigation_. Remember? He'd always say it just like that."

"Oh yeah. Tom Herzer." Both men paused at the door, thinking.

"God, I hated that son of a bitch," they said simultaneously, and an instant later they were both laughing, arm in arm as if no time had passed between them at all, and an instant later Jack was doubled over, vomiting profusely onto Vlad's pants and shoes.

"Damnit, Jack!" cried Vlad.

Vlad bent over Jack, helping him, a bit outraged, a bit disgusted, but mostly, for reasons he couldn't even begin to fathom, just thinking the whole situation was hilarious. What started as a snigger transformed into laughter, a more sincere laugh than Vlad had heard from himself in a long time. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was Danny, perhaps it was just _being_ here, but Vlad felt distinctly not himself. Everything was so surreal.

"Oh, go to hell, Vlad," muttered Jack, spitting, though a smile was just starting to curl his lips.

"Already there," Vlad answered, pulling up his shaking friend. "Already there. Now, I don't know about you, but _this _reminds me of college."


	4. Forgeries and Duplicates

**Author's Note:**

OOOOkay, so here's the next chappie. I have to admit, I'm kinda proud with how this one turned out. Remember how I said that there would be introspection happening in this story? Well it all starts here. And if you think this is the worst it'll get, then you're very, very wrong. Believe you me, Vlad has some serious skeletons in his closet, and if all goes according to plan we'll be exploring all of them in atrocious detail. Fun for us, not so much for him.

I apologize for the update wait--school started and on top of that the content of this chapter was pretty difficult to write. Oh, and sorry to those of you hoping for it, but there's no smut in this chapter; it'll come up again, I promise, but it's not the only focus of this story so it won't just be going on all the time. Maybe in the next installment..? We'll see. Probably. But don't hold me to that.

But probably.

**III. Forgeries and Duplicates**

Vlad groaned, twisting restlessly about on the uncomfortable futon and staring into the shadows around him. A bit of light shone in from the one window in the room, dimly illuminating the jumble of objects the Fenton's had managed to squeeze into the small den: two filled bookshelves, a desk, three dismantled computers, at least a dozen file boxes overflowing with papers, a couple old chairs, a bureau, a hodgepodge of odds and ends, and then of course the futon upon which Vlad had, for the past hour and a half, been futilely attempting to fall asleep.

A clock in the front of the house chimed softly, signaling the half hour. Vlad shifted, raised his arm and illuminated the face of his watch. Five thirty. Fucking terrific. He let his arm fall listlessly back onto his chest, trying to decide if it was worth attempting to fall asleep now if he'd only get a couple hours of rest. He'd never been able to sleep much past seven, especially if he was sleeping in an unfamiliar place.

"No," Vlad mumbled, answering his own question before sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. His skull instantly erupted in sharp throbbing pain.

"Oh, ow—" he gasped, leaning forward and cupping his head in his hands. "Ow, fuck, okay, okay, I'm laying back down." Vlad gently lowered himself back onto the futon, shutting his eyes against his headache. His entire body suddenly felt achy and weak. Vlad grimaced; he didn't remember having a hangover this bad since college. He felt terrible.

It wasn't that Vlad wasn't tired; he was exhausted. Every cell in his body was absolutely screaming for sleep. But thoughts of the events of the past night—of Maddie, Jack, his old friends from years past… of Danny—haunted him, and though thinking about the odd fluctuations of emotion he'd felt upon seeing them made his insides squirm, Vlad found himself unable to stop, and had actually fought off sleep in an effort to keep awake.

How had it come to this? Vlad scoured his brain for the answers he wanted but only half hoped were there. He'd accomplished so much; how could he be so thrown by the events of a single night? It wasn't as if he'd never endured hardships—he'd built a multi-billion dollar corporation literally from the ground up, with no connections, with no help at all. He'd proved all his doubters wrong, all those who'd laughed him off, who didn't believe that a quiet, broke twenty-something from Nowhere, Wisconsin had any business trying to make a dent in the corporate world.

Vlad frowned as a surge of memories flooded his mind. Those had been a hard few years. He remembered with a shudder his first place after college, a run-down studio apartment complete with cockroaches, faulty plumbing and shady neighbors. His mother was dead by then; she hadn't lived to see him graduate. His father, whom he hadn't seen much since the divorce, refused to support Vlad, appalled he had a son who'd gone to college and left with nothing but a degree in paranormal studies. Is that what he'd come to this country for, he'd screamed at Vlad. Is that why he'd risked everything, sacrificed everything, so that his son could throw his life away traipsing through haunted houses? And even worse, a son who was into other _men_…. It did Vlad no good to try and explain to his father that he was actually bisexual; it was a concept the man had no ability and no desire to understand. And then there was the accident, and Vlad landed himself in the hospital with a bill so huge he'd be paying it for the rest of his life… well, that was the final straw. His father disowned him right there in the ER and stormed out of the hospital, leaving an emotionally distraught and physically broken Vlad weeping as he fell into unconsciousness, sending a flurry of doctors bustling to his bed.

When Vlad finally checked out of the clinic he was nearly broke and completely on his own. He managed to survive on mere dollars a day, but over the course of a few months was forced to pawn most of what he owned, until he had nothing to his name but his lease, a few articles of clothing, a city bus pass, the couch he slept on, and the one good suit he kept and wore to job interviews. And though it made Vlad sick to admit it, his father had had a point: even in Chicago, finding a good job with his resume was impossible. So Vlad made a habit of skipping meals to save money. For a number of months he ate only every other day, and he dropped so much weight his bones stuck out at all angles and a cut took him weeks to heal. His hair was completely grey by the time he was twenty-six.

In time Vlad learned to pickpocket to cover his rent. But it was a tough skill to learn, and he was still late to pay nearly every month. The landlord was ruthless in his desire to collect, an angry drunk with a complete disregard for the law and no sympathy for his impoverished tenants. One night he'd shown up at Vlad's door, furious and demanding his due, and in the ensuing argument smashed the empty liquor bottle he was holding across Vlad's face when Vlad finally admitted he couldn't pay. He still had the scars on his ear and cheek to prove it, barely visible, but there. And Vlad remembered the landlord's sadistic smile as the man knelt in front of him as he lay bleeding on the floor and brokered a deal: a week's extension on his rent in exchange for spending the night with him. And Vlad took it, hating himself for doing so but desperate to keep off the street.

One bitter December Vlad received a brief letter in the mail telling him that his father had passed away and had left him nothing, not even a message. The letter went on to explain that man had requested his body be sent overseas to be buried in his native Leningrad, an expense Vlad, his only living relative in the United States, would be expected to pay. And it wasn't cheap.

Three weeks later, Vlad received two letters on the same day. The first billed him for his father's funerary procedures; the other explained that Vlad's meager health insurance plan was being dropped due to late payments, and that it would no longer cover the hospital bills he was still paying off. Vlad remembered the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness consume him as the papers slipped from his fingers to the floor. That night, trembling in his freezing and barren apartment, horrified by his own failure and very much alone, Vlad stood in front of his bathroom mirror and very nearly put a bullet in his head.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

His ghost powers began to manifest themselves about a year after Vlad moved out. He remembered the shock and disgust he'd felt upon finding himself saddled with them, a strange of group of abilities he had no idea how to control that made his every day a living hell. In those first few difficult years, they served mainly as a cruel reminder of his dismal circumstances, and of Jack, who he came to loathe as a traitor, and of Maddie, who had gone and married that fool.

So it was difficult for Vlad to accept his newfound powers, and if he had been given another choice he supposed he would have hardly ever used them; however, his poverty and ambition pushed him to develop them into an asset. After all, intangibility, invisibility, these things helped him to become perhaps the most profitable thief in the city, and it was with a tremendous sense of vengeance and self-satisfaction that he cleared his debts with his crooked landlord and moved into an apartment that was actually presentable. He bought a new suit, got accepted for a loan, and started his own business, an investment firm that, to everyone's surprise, profited marvelously from the start. And sure, Vlad thought, he'd had to overshadow that banker to give him that loan, and he'd been involved in his fair share of underhanded dealings, but that was the nature of business, right? You do what you can to survive. And if Vlad had a bit more to work with in terms of ghost powers, then so be it. He deserved reparations for the hell he'd been put through.

The clock tolled six. Snapping back into the present, Vlad was surprised to find he was breathing heavily. He felt hot and constricted under the sheets the Fentons had provided him and he hastily cast them aside and stood up, grimacing as his pounding head protested the movement but unable to lay still any longer.

Quietly, Vlad made his way out of the cluttered den and into the front of the house, still completely dark. Faint traces of activity—a few scraps of paper, a cup left on a table—were all that remained as proof that the house had held a rollicking party just hours before. Now, shrouded in the morning's stillness, those things seemed eerily out of place, like forgotten relics of another era. Vlad didn't know how most of the guests had gotten home, but he didn't much care. Now that they were gone it was difficult for him to believe they'd even been there at all; they too seemed unreal, like something from a dream, like something he had read ages ago he could only dimly recall.

Frowning at the thought, Vlad shuffled into a bathroom, flipped on a light—his head erupted in a new burst of pain—and began rummaging through the medicine cabinet for a bottle of aspirin. He popped off the top and poured four tablets into his hand, paused, put two back, paused again, and finally settled on three before swallowing them dry. As his head tipped back Vlad caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was bleary-eyed and ashen, the dark circles under his eyes partially obscured by his hair, which hung limply about his shoulders. He was wearing nothing but the button-down shirt, now completely open, and his boxers. Teeth clenched, scowl on his face, Vlad shut off the light and turned from the mirror. He'd seen enough.

And he was thirsty.

It was a sudden thought but completely overwhelming; Vlad felt as though he hadn't had a drop to drink in years. He moved into the kitchen, his bare feet cold against the tile floor. Pausing to get his bearings, Vlad opened a cabinet of groceries, of bowls, of plates, before finding a cabinet of cups and filling one under the tap. The water was cool and soothing, and he refilled his glass several times before heading back into the living room and sinking onto the couch. He faced the window, staring out into the night.

Absentmindedly brushing nonexistent dust off what he knew was a hopelessly filthy shirt, Vlad's finger grazed a segment of frayed string where a button had once been attached, the button Danny had torn when he had—

_No._

Vlad stopped himself from thinking it. His eyes flew about the room, hungrily searching for something to focus on, something to distract himself. He'd been able to avoid the incident in his mind all night; he didn't want to start now, no, no, no, no, no…. But the memory surfaced, every explicit detail of it. Vlad leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

"Oh god," he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh my god. What's happening to me…?" Vlad didn't see the flash of white light, but he felt it; he knew what he was doing before he understood why—

"Hello, Vlad," came a voice from beside him. His own voice.

Vlad leapt to his feet in surprise, scrambling away from the sound, nearly stumbling over a low coffee table as his head lit up again, spinning, forcing him to a stop. Taking a deep breath, readying himself for what he knew was there, Vlad slowly raised his head to the couch. Sitting calmly upon the upholstery was _himself_, another Vlad. A clone.

"Hello," it said again. Vlad stared. He had made clones of himself before, of course, so seeing another one sitting there was no real shock, but there was something unusually disturbing about this particular other self. Not really something visible… it was something in its eyes. Like it could see right through him.

"What are you doing here?" asked Vlad curtly, standing up straight and trying to regain a smattering of composure.

"I'm your clone," answered the duplicate. Vlad waited for further explanation but got none; the clone only continued to stare at him with its oddly piercing eyes.

"That's not what I asked you," said Vlad, his voice hardening. "I want to know why you're here."

"You made me, you should know." The clone brushed a strand of hair from its face. It too was dressed in nothing more than a shirt and boxers, identical to Vlad's. A button was missing from its shirt as well.

"I know I don't have the patience for this," Vlad shot back. He took a deep breath, focusing, manipulating energy to dissolve the clone and reunite it with himself.

"I wouldn't, Vlad," said the clone, sensing his intent. Vlad paused, annoyed.

"Why?"

"Because I have some important answers for you." Vlad's tired eyes shot open.

"What?"

"Ask me a question."

"Ask you a… What do you mean, ask you a question?" Vlad hissed. "What kind of clone are you? Ask you a question about what?"

"Ask me if you love Maddie Fenton." Vlad froze. Ice seemed to congeal in his veins.

"_What?_"

"You wanted to know why I was here. This is why. Ask me if you love her." Vlad shook his head.

"No." What was going on? Why was this clone interrogating him? And why about _this_?

"Ask me."

"_No._"

"Ask me." And this time when the clone said it, Vlad felt something hitch in his mind, something powerful he couldn't even begin to describe. He asked.

"Fine. Do I love Maddie?" The clone fixed him with a piercing stare before responding.

"No." There was no inflection in the word, no hint of hidden meaning. It was not the answer Vlad wanted.

"That's a lie," he growled, pointing angrily at the clone, which only looked blankly back at him. "I do love her. I do." The clone shook its head.

"No," it repeated. "You _want_ to love her, and with that you've been able to deceive yourself into thinking you do for many years. But you don't."

"I don't believe you."

"I _am _you, Vlad. Lie to me and you're only lying to yourself."

"Then tell me," said Vlad, crossing his arms. "Why would I do something like that? Why would I convince myself I love a person I don't? That doesn't make any sense. I-I wouldn't do something like that!" But a trickle of disconcerting doubt gnawed its way into his spine as Vlad spoke, and wave of desperation broke over him. The clone had to be wrong. "Why would I waste half my life…. Why would I waste twenty-five _years_ telling myself I loved Maddie when I didn't?"

"Twenty-five years is a long time," said the clone, echoing the thought aloud just as it crossed Vlad's mind. "Too long to spend chasing after something you know you'll never get." The comment seared Vlad to the core. _Thinking_ it was one thing, but actually _hearing_ it made it too tangible, too real….

"I don't know…" Vlad mumbled to himself, feeling a mixture of rage and defeat coil within him. "I don't know why…." He glanced up at the clone. Its expressionless face was resolute.

"You know why." Vlad paled.

"I don't!"

"You just don't want to admit it."

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Vlad bellowed, forgetting he was in a house of sleeping people. But the stillness of the house around him made Vlad remember, and he lowered his voice to a vicious whisper. "That's not true," he repeated firmly. "I have nothing to hide. _Nothing_."

"You're lying," stated the clone simply. It's calm, matter-of-fact voice made Vlad's blood boil. "You're hiding everything. You've built so many walls and barriers in your life you have trouble remembering what current lie you're living."

"I don't—I don't even know why I'm listening to this," said Vlad, crossing his arms and turning from the clone. "It's ridiculous."

"It's what not what you want to hear, you mean."

"No—"

"But you do _need _to hear it."

"NO."

"And that's why I'm here. You need to hear this from yourself."

"_No! _You are _not_ me!"

"I'm your duplicate—"

"You are a clone!" Vlad hissed through clenched teeth, turning back to face the man sitting on the couch. "You're not- you're not who I really am. You're not the real me!" The clone shrugged indifferently.

"It makes no difference," it said. "And I'm more you than you'd like to think."

"Liar."

"Then let me explain. I'm not like the duplicates you've made of yourself in the past." Its cool eyes drilled into Vlad's own.

"When you replicate your form," the clone began, "you pick and choose the qualities you want the clone to have. In battle you need your clones to fight, so you give them the ability to do so; you duplicate your ghost powers and the skills they need to use them properly against your enemies. Sometimes you've needed your clones to serve as distractions, and in those cases your duplicates knew how to distract and fool the foe. You gave them your cunning. Those duplicates weren't powerful adversaries when it came to hand to hand combat, but they didn't need to be. You only needed them to buy yourself time."

Vlad stared at his clone, shocked by its words. Wheels in his head were spinning, flying from one memory to the next, analyzing his actions, trying to decide if what the clone was saying was true. He had always suspected his duplicates weren't authentic copies of himself, but he'd never thought deeply about the individual natures of the clones themselves.

"How do you know this?" he muttered, voice raspy. "I never—I never really paid attention; I never remember putting this much thought into duplicating myself—"

"I only know because you know, Vlad," said the clone. "And you were _always_ paying attention to what you were doing, even if it was only at an instinctive, subconscious level. It took you years to learn to make a complete duplicate, and even after you could repeat the action successfully it required an intense amount of concentration and skill, no?"

Vlad continued staring wordlessly at the clone, stubbornly refusing to agree though he knew it was right.

"And over time it got easier, didn't it?" Again Vlad responded with silence.

"Now, part of that ease came with practice. But most of it was due to the fact that as your ghost skills increased you began to learn how to clone only certain parts of yourself. Your initial clones were difficult to produce because they really were true clones—you put everything of yourself into them because you didn't know any other way to make a duplicate."

Vlad started and was about to disagree but paused mid-motion, suddenly lost in thought. He remembered. He remembered his first clone and how it stared down at him quizzically as he had collapsed to his knees, winded from the effort of producing it. It had dissolved in seconds and had left Vlad unconscious on the floor, where he slept for over a day and missed his morning shift. He'd lost his job because of that damned clone, and he'd really needed the money….

"The first time you made a partial clone was an accident," the clone continued, "done out of panic and haste. But it worked; the duplicate did what you needed it to do, nothing more, and nothing less. It was perfect—just what you wanted. At the time you congratulated yourself on mastering the power, but really what you mastered was a shortcut. As time passed and the act of replication became more familiar to you, so too did the act of analyzing your surroundings, recognizing what you needed done and differentiating and selecting the skills a clone would need to do it. You're at the point now where doing so isn't so much a choice as it is an automatic response to a need."

"So all my clones are partials. Fine." Vlad crossed his arms, scowling. It wasn't a topic worth debating. "Fine. I'll accept that. But that means you're partial, too."

"Yes."

"So what makes you different from the others? Why should I listen to anything you're saying?"

"Because as with all your clones, Vlad, you created me to serve a purpose."

"Which is?"

"To tell you the truth." Vlad was dumbfounded. Both men sat in silence as the words sank in.

"What?"

"You're confused," said the clone. "You're confused about everything that's happened here tonight, and you're confused about yourself. You want answers that no one else can provide."

"You're telling me I created you just to _talk?_" The clone nodded.

"That _is _what we've been doing. You created me in an effort to figure out the reasons why you're feeling the way you do."

"Unbelievable…." Vlad sank into a chair and found his hands were shaking. He stared across the room at the clone, which merely stared plaintively back, still as a statue. It was so strange, so unnerving, caught in the gaze of a being that looked exactly like himself, that _was _himself, and yet was so inexplicably different.

"I don't know what to say," Vlad finally mumbled, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. The clone nodded again.

"I know. So ask me a question."

"Why did I come here tonight?" The words came rushing from his mouth before Vlad even had time to think. He bit his lip and waited, watching as the clone tipped its head thoughtfully, formulating a response.

"There are many reasons," it said slowly, stroking its silver goatee and beginning to count them on its fingers. "You missed Jack Fenton. You wanted your friend back. You were bored and unhappy with your life. You were lonely. You wanted to redeem yourself—"

"Alright, alright, stop," interrupted Vlad, face stretched taut, knuckles gripping the chair. He hadn't been ready for such a barrage of blunt truths. The clone sat and waited patiently for Vlad to recover. When he did, he changed the subject.

"You can't lie to me?" Vlad asked. The clone shook its head. "Why?"

"I don't have any reason to."

"But you could if you wanted."

"No."

"Not having a reason to and not being able to are two different things," protested Vlad.

"Not for me."

"Explain."

"I have your memories and your reasoning," began the clone. "I know what you've experienced. I know why you've made the decisions you have and why you've done the things you've done; in short, I understand your rationale. What I don't possess is your anger, or the bitterness you've accrued over the years. I don't possess your pride, or your aggressiveness, or your fear, or your shame." The duplicate paused. "In fact, I don't possess any emotions at all."

"Logic, not emotions," muttered Vlad in an almost inaudible voice, and he instantly knew why: He wouldn't have been able to bring himself to speak to anyone who could have judged or analyzed him, to anyone who was biased, even if that person was himself. Especially if that person was himself.

"Correct," said the clone. "Logic, not emotions. And it's that quality that keeps me from lying to you. I only know what you know, of course, but I understand much more than you because I _allow_ myself to understand."

"And what do _I_ do?"

"You don't. It's as simple as that."

"How do I start?"

"You have to want to start."

"I don't."

"Then you can't."

Vlad clenched his hands and grit his teeth, outraged at finding himself at an impasse. He was getting nowhere fast. The clone stared blankly back at him, completely undisturbed by Vlad's sudden flare of anger; its unresponsiveness only infuriated Vlad further. Unable to look at the clone any longer, he jumped up from his seat and turned his back to the thing, glaring miserably out a dark window.

"You're upset by what I've told you," said the clone. Vlad wheeled around to face it, eyes ablaze.

"No. I'm _upset_ because I'm stuck in the Fenton's house at six in the morning having and inane conversation with- with _you_. I'm upset because I didn't want to come here, but I did, against my better judgment, because I thought, what the hell? I'll go. And you what? Things were just as bad as I thought they'd be! Things were worse!"

"Why?"

"_Why_?" Vlad turned and spat out the word, barely able to keep from screaming. Something clicked into place in his head. His eyes widened and a half-crazed sneer broke out across his face. "You're doing it now, aren't you?" he said to the clone. "Trying to get me off my guard so I'll open up to you. Well it won't work."

"I only do what I've been created for, Vlad," the clone responded. "I only have one purpose to serve, and you can be assured it's not to trick you." The clone pulled its legs up and crossed them in front of it on the couch, leaning forward to rest its elbows on its knees. It never broke eye contact with Vlad. Vlad grimaced, irked by the clone's new position.

"Stop sitting like that, and get your feet off the couch" he huffed. "You look like you're six."

"You like to sit like this," said the clone.

"I don't." But even Vlad knew the response was just a bit too adamant.

"You do," said the clone, "and you would more often if you didn't feel like you had an image to uphold."

"That's ridiculous."

"You're right. So I suggest you lighten up in the future. People would like you more."

"Oh- That's not what I- I- I don't care what people think of me!"

"Well now you're just contradicting yourself—"

"Shut up!" Vlad grasped the windowpane behind him, shaking with rage so badly he could hardly stand. "Just stop, please."

"Then ask me a question."

"No. No more questions."

"You should. You want to."

"Damnit, what do you want from me?" Vlad cried in exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air and barreling down on the clone. The clone didn't move, just continued its bland expressionless stare, seemingly immune to Vlad, who was seething just inches away.

"I'd like you to be honest with yourself," it said. "Something you haven't done in a long time." It paused. "I'd like you to tell me about Daniel." Vlad blinked and drew back from the clone, startled and defensive.

"Why?"

"Because you don't understand why you acted the way you did with him tonight," said the duplicate, its pale eyes boring into Vlad's. "And that confusion is deeply troubling to you."

"I don't want to discuss it," said Vlad tersely, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks.

"You're embarrassed by your behavior," said the clone, ignoring Vlad's opposition to the subject. Vlad's head was swimming, he wanted to scream; he bit the inside of his lip so hard he tasted blood.

"You took advantage of him when he was drunk—"

"He came on to _me_," Vlad managed to interject.

"But you were the responsible party. He's only twenty after all, and you knew his logic was impaired. You're thirty years his senior and you're more experienced. You should have known better."

"But I-I couldn't help it…" moaned Vlad, sinking to his knees and cradling his head in his hands. The defense quickly melted into an admission. "Oh god, I can't believe I almost- I almost… oh, god…. What was I _thinking_?"

"You were thinking it was wonderful to have someone want you," answered the clone quietly. "And that's not a bad thing. It's much better than what you were feeling before."

"How was that?"

"Isolated. Alone. Numb." Both men sat in silence; the moments of time between ticks of the clock seemed to stretch on into eternity.

"I don't know what I'll do tomorrow," Vlad finally mumbled, composing himself enough to push his body up into a nearby chair. His entire frame was shaking. "What will he say? What do you say after something like that?"

"I can't predict Daniel's reaction," said the clone. "He may be upset, he may feel humiliated. He may not care. It's possible he won't even remember what happened." The thought jarred Vlad. Facing Danny tomorrow would be difficult, but yet, if the boy didn't even recall….

"You'd be hurt if he didn't remember," said the clone, again speaking Vlad's thoughts aloud. "You'd be disappointed. You're disgusted by what you did, but a part of you yearns for something more between you and Daniel."

"I shouldn't," murmured Vlad. "I can't. Not with… not with _him_. He's Jack's _son_."

"Would it matter if you loved each other?"

"But we don't!" cried Vlad, aghast. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I didn't… I would've—" and it stung to admit it, but it was the truth and so he did "—I didn't care that it was Daniel. I would have reacted the same to anyone. To anyone who… who acted like that." The clone paused, thinking.

"Perhaps. But would you have enjoyed it as much if it was someone else?"

"I don't… I don't know…."

"Have you ever felt a connection like that with anyone before? In fifty years of living, have you ever wanted someone as badly as you wanted him—?"

"That doesn't mean it was love!" Vlad screamed, flying out of his chair. "It- It was… You know what it was! We were drunk, you, you just said, so quit turning things around on me! First you tell me it was wrong, that it was my fault, and now you're saying it was okay?" The clone said nothing.

"Just tell me, was it right or wrong?" His voice broke. "_Just tell me!_"

"I can't."

"But why?"

"Because I don't know the answer." And it was true, Vlad really didn't know at all, and the gravity of that truth weighed into him like a wall of lead. He sank into the chair again, drained. It was a long time before either man spoke.

"You're conflicted," said the clone finally. Vlad looked up.

"What?"

"You're conflicted," it repeated. "On one hand you wish that you really were what most people think you are: just a shrewd, twisted man who lives without a shred of remorse to his name. Because it would make your life so much simpler, wouldn't it? It would make the choices you've made so much easier to live with."

"Stop it." Vlad felt a burning sensation in the back of his throat and knew tears were on their way. And he didn't want to break down and cry, not here, not now. "Please."

"It bothers you to know that part does live inside you, and that it may be the stronger part. Not the better part, of course, but the stronger part. The dominant part."

"No… stop…."

"But on the other hand you hold onto the hope that the good in you is still there, because you hate the person you've become, and you very much want to be someone different. To recapture the kind of man you were thirty years ago."

"Stop."

"You're ashamed of yourself."

"Please…."

"And you're afraid it's too late. That you've gone too far."

"Oh my god…."

"_That's_ why you reacted to Maddie the way you did. You don't _love _her. You did, years ago, because she was kind and insightful and smart; she saw something in you you didn't even know was there, something she thought was beautiful. It was an amazing feeling, wasn't it? Every day was wonderful when you knew she loved you. You felt like your life had purpose, had meaning. But Jack Fenton came between the two of you, didn't he? Jack Fenton, a man you considered your best friend, he caused that accident and stole Maddie away. How could you cope with that kind of betrayal?"

"I don't know," Vlad whimpered, dimly aware of the tears on his face. "I don't know what I was supposed to do. No one understood…. God, Jack, I HATE him!"

"But it wasn't Jack's fault you lost Maddie, Vlad."

"Yes it was! It was! He _betrayed_ me!_"_

"You betrayed yourself, Vlad. And that's what you hate. It's not the accident that undermined your chances with Maddie and it wasn't Jack—it was _you_. She very well may have loved you afterwards, but you turned bitter and cold and resentful. How could she have loved someone like that? The first thing you did after graduating was cut your ties with the two of them and move four hundred miles away! What did you expect? She wasn't going to come running after you, Vlad, and the truth is you didn't want her to.

"So what you've been mistaking for love all these years, Vlad, is really hope, a desperate hope that the part Maddie loved in you is still there, because that's the only thing about yourself you like anymore; as far as you're concerned it's the last good thing about yourself there is—"

"NO!" roared Vlad, flinging himself at the clone, grabbing something off the table. He was going to kill that thing; that wasn't him, it wasn't, it just _couldn't_ be—

He moved not even knowing what he was doing, nor realizing what he had clutched in his hand—

The knife slipped effortlessly into the shoulder of the duplicate, up to the hilt, as though it was passing through nothing at all. A trail of hot dark blood spurted from the wound across Vlad's face and shirt and into his eyes and mouth where it vanished into smoke barely an instant later—

With a grunt, the clone's knees buckled and it collapsed to the floor, its breaths coming in short, raspy gasps. Vlad backed away, staring disbelievingly at the scene unfolding before him. He was shocked by what he had done. He was watching his clone, but even as he stared the clone seemed more and more himself, until Vlad was certain that _he _was the clone and the man wheezing and bleeding to death before him, knife sticking out of his body, was the real Vlad.

And that's when Vlad felt it, a pearl of dull soreness that bloomed upon the skin of his own shoulder before breaking open into a spasm of blistering pain, working its way through muscle and into the core of his bones—

With a strangled cry Vlad fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder, fingers digging into skin in a futile attempt to stem the pain, which was worse than anything Vlad had ever felt. It was as though his arm had been torn off, as though the whole half of his body had been set on fire. He could hardly see through the stinging tears brimming in his eyes. It wasn't right; this wasn't how it was supposed to happen; his duplicates were separate physical entities. How could he be feeling the pain inflicted on a clone—?

"Vlad." The clone's voice broke its way into his head, rebounding and echoing in his skull. "Vlad, hurry…."

Vlad forced his eyes open, doing his best to focus his vision despite the pain. The clone was sprawled upon the floor, arm and neck drenched in red, its hand scrabbling futilely at the knife, trying to extract it from its flesh. Its head turned to Vlad, catching his eye.

"You have to get this knife out of me," it sputtered, chest heaving. There wasn't an expression on its face. Not a single feeling. And of course Vlad knew there couldn't be, but he still stared, repulsed by the eerie sight. The clone was caught up in the physical throes of death, yet its face was calm, almost bored. And it was fading. Vlad gasped as he realized what was happening: The clone was disappearing, melting into ectoplasm and reuniting with himself.

"Hurry," murmured the clone, voice just barely a whisper. It was nearly invisible. Droplets of blood rose off the carpet and dissolved into the air. The knife was fully visible, suspended in midair by whatever solidity the duplicate had left.

Grunting and gritting his teeth through the pain, Vlad reached out with his good arm and grabbed the hilt, pulling the blade out just as the last wisps of the clone swirled up from the floor and faded into the darkness. Vlad sat for a moment, knife in hand, shoulder on fire, trying to process what had happened, to figure out what he had done. But he couldn't; his eyes glazed over and his mind felt fuzzy—Vlad knew it was going to happen before it did, and he tried to stop it, tried to steady himself, but to no avail. Everything was too heavy, moving too slowly.

The knife dropped from his hand and Vlad tumbled forward, falling headfirst onto the floor. The ticks of a distant clock followed him down, deep and resonant noises, trying to explain, to whisper things, to make him understand. But these too faded, and Vlad relented, curving with the night, slipping listlessly and completely into a realm of black and heavy silence.


	5. Whores Don't Deserve Nice Things

**Author's Note:**

Okay guys, it's official: I'm a terrible person. Just a terrible, terrible person. Don't believe me? Give this thing a read and then we'll talk.

Really though, I have to admit that the content of this chapter is a little... severe. By my standards, at least. I've never written anything this hardcore before. I hope that you enjoy it, that's what it's here for after all, but if you're not down with rape/blood/knives/torture, etc., then you might want to skip this chapter and go read something else. I'm not trying to turn you off from my work; I just want to put a proper disclaimer on this thing. (Speaking of which, I don't own Danny Phantom (SHOCKING, I know), blah, blah, blah. I suppose I never really stated that before. Oh well. LEGALITIES!)

Also, some things you should know: This is a flashback chapter. Like, if this story was a book, this would be one of those little chapters that happens at random times between the real chapters and is written in all italics. It occurs about 25 (??? I need to work out a solid time line, sorry) years before the present. I think I'm going to start interspersing this story with chapters like this, little snippets of Vlad's past. This chapter also contains an original character who will probably turn up again and will probably be killed off. Unless I can think of a worse fate for him, which, if the content of this story is anything to go on, I probably can. Sorry if you're not a fan of OCs, but there's only about twelve people on the show and I wasn't about to use any of them for _this_. Sometimes OCs just have to happen.

So, all that said, enjoy!

**IV. Whores Don't Deserve Nice Things**

Vlad burst in through the door in a flurry of haste and already melting snow, turning as soon as he was inside and slamming the door shut. He fumbled with the locks, numb fingers shaking as he slid the bolt closed. He was sure he'd lost the man, but the locks made him feel safer nevertheless. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Vlad stepped back from the door and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair before reaching into his coat and pulling out the wallet and rifling through its folds. Inside were twenty-three dollars and a few cents, a couple clipped coupons, a library card, a driver's license. Nothing else. No credit cards. Fuck.

Sighing, Vlad tossed the wallet onto the table before peeling off his now threadbare coat and draping it over a chair. He couldn't believe he'd gone through all that trouble for just twenty-three dollars. That man—Vlad tore open the wallet and peered angrily down at the name on the license—that _Andrew Michelson_ had chased him for four blocks! And while Vlad knew the man had eventually given up the chase and hadn't followed him home, getting caught always left him rattled. He wasn't a criminal; the art of thieving and disingenuous behavior didn't come naturally to him at all. So when the occasional target did catch him in the act, the stress of it was enough to scare Vlad off pick pocketing for at least a while. But he always went back to it; he didn't have any another choice. He'd been out of a job for four and a half months.

A loud knock rattled his door. Vlad froze.

"Open up, Masters!" came a low voice from the other side. "Rent!" Vlad's insides went cold. How could he have forgotten? How could it be the 13th already? His eyes flew to the money on the table. Even with the rest of what he'd collected, even with the small amount he'd been able to save, it wasn't nearly enough. "_Now, _Masters!" The voice was louder, angrier. Panic spreading through his body, Vlad moved to the door, taking a deep breath before unlocking it and swinging it open to reveal the hulking form of Felix Varrow, his landlord.

Felix was drunk. His tall, stocky body swayed as he stood, his dark eyes bloodshot and his cheeks flushed. Black hair hung across his square face at all angles, a lock of which he brushed from his eyes with a hand holding an empty liquor bottle. He grinned darkly when he saw Vlad and held out his free hand.

"Rent," he said bluntly. "You owe for two months." Vlad bit his lip, glancing around nervously. Felix narrowed his eyes.

"Do you have it?" The edge in his voice was sinister.

"Mr. Varrow, please," pleaded Vlad, clasping his hands together and staring helplessly into the landlord's ruddy face. "Please. I'll make rent, I swear, I just need a little more time—"

"No more time!" shouted Felix, pointing the empty bottle at Vlad. "It's always the same with you, Masters. I open this place up to you, I let you live here; I took a chance on you, you know, you really should be grateful, and yet every month when the rent is due you've got some excuse, some reason you can't pay me."

"W-well, well that's not been my intention—"

"I don't care what you're _intention_ was, you son of a bitch," interrupted Felix, wavering as he took a few menacing steps towards Vlad. "All that matters is that the rent is due _now_, and you don't have it." A twisted smile curled over his face as his hand tightened around the bottle. Vlad backed up, eyes wide, stumbling around a chair as he moved. He didn't like the look of that smile. Not one bit.

"Mr. Varrow." Vlad's voice was little more than a high whisper. "Please." Felix cocked his head to the side and took another step closer to Vlad.

"Do you have my money?" His words were hard and gritty through the smile. Vlad tried to step back but found himself pressed into a wall—

"I-I-I just need more time—"

"That's not what I asked you, Masters!" roared Felix. Vlad flinched. The smile had disappeared off the landlord's face, replaced entirely by seething rage. "Answer my question! Do you have my money?" Vlad stared at the floor, hesitating, not wanting to say it—

"ANSWER ME!"

"No, okay? I don't, I'm sorry—"

"WRONG ANSWER, BOY!"

And Vlad heard Felix but hardly had the time to process the words, because the moment he heard the landlord scream was the very same moment Vlad saw him move, saw his arm fly up and saw the bottle come hurtling through the air towards him—

The shock of the impact came before the pain. That was the first thing Vlad felt. Shock. Shock that Felix had done it, shock as the bottle smashed across his face, shock as he heard himself cry out and shock as he found himself sprawled across the floor when he'd been standing just milliseconds before. The pain came later. But it did, and when it came Vlad felt as though his head had been split open and he gasped and grit his teeth against it. White-hot tendrils of blistering agony opened up across his face and ear and head. Every other part of him felt numb and nonexistent; the only thing he could feel was the intense pain writhing in his skull.

Vlad laid motionless on the floor for what seemed like an eternity, though it couldn't really have been more than a few seconds, before the initial burst of pain subsided to the point where he could open an eye a sliver. And the first thing he saw was Felix, standing over him and grinning sadistically, the broken edges of the remains of the bottle still clenched in his fist. The man was laughing.

Vlad groaned, closing his eyes and shifting just enough free his arm out from under him. Tentatively, he put his fingers to his face and found that it was sticky and warm. It took Vlad a moment to realize what he was feeling was blood. A lot of it. His eyes snapped open and he grunted, struggling to push himself up off the ground.

"Oh no you don't." Felix's cruel and mocking voice floated down to meet Vlad just as a boot swung out and connected swiftly with his stomach. Vlad gasped as he toppled over onto his back, wheezing and clutching the new flare of pain in his gut. This time he heard Felix's laugh, and managed to squeeze his eyes open enough to see that the man was now hunched over him, cruel face staring down into his own bloodied one.

"You know," said Felix, every syllable of his voice dripping with dark delight. "I am at heart a rational man, Vlad." He pressed a jagged edge of the glass he was holding into Vlad's face, just millimeters from his eye. "I've been known to be—" his twisted grin intensified

"—generous. Forgiving, even. To those who need my help." Vlad winced as Felix dragged the glass down across his cheek, slicing his skin open. But he didn't dare move. Felix leaned in closer; Vlad could smell the liquor on the man even through the scent of his own blood. "I think you need my help now, Vlad."

"You've gotten yourself into quite the unfortunate position," Felix continued. "Two months behind on your rent, no job, stealing to get by—" he jerked his head in the direction of the table, upon which was the wallet Vlad had stolen earlier. "And no one you can turn to." There was a ferocious glint in his eyes. "So I'm willing to offer you a deal. How does that sound?"

"A deal?" Vlad's voice was raspy and weak. He grimaced as he felt the point of glass press against his skin again, this time at his neck.

"Yes Vlad, a deal," murmured Felix, toying carelessly with the dangerously positioned glass. "I'm willing to give you a week's extension on your rent, but in return… in return you have to do something for me." Vlad eyed the landlord warily.

"What?" Felix grinned.

"Spend the night with me." Vlad felt his heart skip a beat.

"W-what?" His stomach turned at the thought of doing anything even _close_ to intimate with the man before him.

"You heard me," said Felix. His voice was still low but now there was an edge in it that hadn't been there before. A _lustful_ edge. Vlad paled.

"Oh my god," he mumbled. "Oh my _god_. No. _No!_" And Vlad made to push Felix away from him, but his face and torso erupted in pain and he stumbled, giving the older man time to force him roughly back down onto the floor, glass again at his throat. Vlad froze, his breathing jagged.

"I want you to be very careful now, Vlad," said Felix darkly, glaring down at the man he was pinning to the ground. "I want you to think very carefully about what I'm going to tell you. I am telling you that I have the power to evict you today if you cannot pay me, which we've already determined that you can't. I am telling you that without this apartment you'll be homeless, and Chicago winters aren't kind to those living on the streets. And I am telling you that I don't have any reservations when it comes to using _force_—" he jabbed the glass into Vlad's neck, just barely breaking the skin "—to get what I want. I am giving you a very generous deal, Vlad." Felix's eyes narrowed into cold, steely slits. "It is not the kind of deal it would be wise to refuse." Vlad swallowed. Everything inside him screamed, absolutely _screamed_, no. But he was cold and sick and helpless… and like so much else, he didn't have a choice.

"Okay." The word escaped his lips as a dry whisper. Felix smiled, victorious, and staggered off Vlad and onto his feet.

"I'm giving you five minutes to get up and wash your face off," he muttered, turning for the door. "Five minutes. No more."

Vlad moved only after hearing the apartment door swing shut behind the landlord. Gritting his teeth, he twisted around and pushed himself off the floor, hanging on to the nearby table for support. He couldn't believe what he had just agreed to do. It was revolting. It was absolutely horrifying. His head swam and he forced himself not to think of it. _Just focus on getting to the bathroom_, Vlad thought. _On getting to the sink. Don't you dare think about anything else. _

It took Vlad time to realize that the bloodied, battered face in the mirror was actually his own. Several large gashes ran down the length of his forehead and cheek and across his ear, and blood streamed from the wounds down his neck and into the fabric of his shirt. Wiping the blood away from the tender skin with a damp washcloth, Vlad saw that dark bruises were already forming on the side of his face and head. He cried out in pain as, when he dabbed at one particularly deep cut, a shot of electric pain ran through his head. Grimacing, he pushed his fingers into the wound and extracted a large sliver of green glass. Vlad stared at it numbly for a moment before he placed it delicately on the sink counter and continued the cleaning. In a few minutes, the majority of the blood had been cleared away and a collection of bloody glass shards lay in pile on the porcelain. Trembling, Vlad threw the stained washcloth into the bowl of the sink and left to carry out his end of the bargain.

Felix was waiting in the hallway when Vlad emerged from his apartment.

"Not bad," he murmured, glancing over Vlad's cleaned face. "Alright, c'mon." He turned and started for the stairwell, motioning for Vlad to follow. Vlad did so, legs moving automatically, eyes glued to the floor in defeat.

By the time they reached Felix's apartment, Vlad's heart was beating so fast he felt liable to faint at any second. The landlord unlocked the door and swung it open. Vlad wanted to run, to just turn and run and run and run until his legs couldn't carry him any farther, but something held him there. Perhaps it was resignation, perhaps desperation. Whatever it was, it kept him cemented to the spot, and when Felix opened the door Vlad found himself walking obediently inside. Vlad heard the door shut and lock behind them and his stomach twisted into knots at the sound. There was no going back now. He was trapped.

"Now," said Felix, stepping up behind Vlad. He took hold of Vlad's upper arm with one hand and ran his fingers up and down Vlad's back and ass with the other. The touch made Vlad's skin crawl. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm paying you for this little performance—" Vlad's eyes shot open as he felt a tongue graze his neck "—so that's what I want you to do. _Perform_. Got it?"

Vlad's body was rigid. He couldn't speak; he was too distracted, too disgusted—The touching, the tongue—

"I said, _got it?_" Vlad inhaled sharply as Felix grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked back hard. "I want you to answer me when I speak to you, boy."

"Okay, okay," Vlad hissed. "I've got it."

"Good. Now come with me." Felix led Vlad by his arm to the back of the apartment. They were about to enter into what looked to Vlad like a bedroom when Felix stopped and tipped his head to the side, considering.

"No," he finally muttered to himself, a small, wicked grin spreading over his face. "No, not this time." And he turned back down the hall, pulling Vlad back into the main room of the apartment.

"Stand there," he told Vlad, pointing to the middle of the room and letting go of his arm. Vlad stopped, confused. Felix continued to the couch and sat down, staring at Vlad and grinning.

"Strip for me," he said. Vlad felt the muscle under his eye twitch.

"What?"

"You heard what I said. Take your clothes off for me, boy. I want to see what you've got under there." Vlad felt a blush rise in his cheeks, but he knew he had no other choice, and so, keeping his eyes on the floor, he slowly undid the zipper of his jacket and shucked it off, dropping it to the ground beside him.

"Good, now your shirt."

Vlad bit his lip and felt his blush intensify, but he obliged, pulling his elbows through the armholes and slipping the shirt up and over his head. He winced as his hand accidentally grazed his bashed face. The shirt fell to the ground, and Vlad found himself half naked and feeling completely exposed in the open room. He crossed his arms in front of his body, trying to cover himself as best he could. He heard Felix chuckle from the couch.

"Aw, c'mon now, don't be bashful. I paid for you, after all." Vlad twitched again. His face was burning. "Put your arms down… take off your pants… shoes… c'mon…." Felix's voice grew heavy, and Vlad heard him shifting on the couch.

Slowly, Vlad lowered his hands and found the button on his jeans and undid it, pulling the zipper down and pushing the pants off his hips. He fumbled with his shoes, pulling them off his feet before stepping out of the pants and kicking the clothes away. As he was standing back up, he heard a muffled noise in front of him and glanced up, only to see Felix reclined on the couch, fly open and stroking himself gently, staring straight at his nearly naked body.

Vlad's breath caught in his throat and he froze, completely mortified. He felt sick; the thought of what he was doing made him want to vomit. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and die right there on the floor.

"Mmm, I don't remember asking you to stop, boy," said Felix, and even in his glazed eyes there was a cold edge, a warning. He pointed to Vlad's boxers, the only article of clothing was still wearing. "Take 'em off. Now."

A soft sound of protest escaped Vlad's lips, and he hesitated, feeling his hands trembling at his sides. He couldn't move. His entire body felt as cold and unresponsive as marble. His mind went foggy; he didn't even see Felix until the man was right in front of him—

_Smack. _Vlad staggered back as Felix backhanded him across his face, aggravating the cuts and bruises there and sending his head into a new rush of pain. He barely had time to cry out before Felix furiously grabbed a hold of his shoulder and forced him up close to his snarling face.

"You're here to follow my orders, got it?" seethed the man. "You do what I say when I say it and not a second later! I bought you for this and you will not deny me. Understand?"

"I-I-I-I-Felix,I—"

_Smack_. The second blow came harder.

"You do _not_ address me by my name," hissed Felix. "You are below that, you little shit, you _disgust _me, and I am doing you a favor. I want you to remember that." He paused for a moment, thinking. "I want you to call me _Sir_ from now on. And, just to make sure you don't forget…."

_Smack._ His hand came down upon Vlad again, sending him reeling and gasping for breath.

"Now, do you understand me?" Vlad winced. "Do you?"

"Yes," he mumbled through grit teeth.

_Smack. _

"Yes… sir."

"Good." The sickening smile crept its way back onto Felix's face. He sidled closer to Vlad, nearly flush against him, and Vlad was suddenly all too aware of the fact that he was nearly naked and that the man before him was fully exposed. He cringed as he felt Felix's penis brush against his leg.

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't like that," the man murmured headily into Vlad's shoulder, breathing him in deeply. His fingers crept along the waistband of Vlad's boxers and he began to slowly tug them down. "Now, if you're too much of a pussy to take these off—" with a jerk of his hands the boxers fell to the floor "—I will." Vlad whimpered as he felt Felix's hands on him, felt the rush of cold air and the flush on his face grow deeper, felt one crooked finger run carelessly down his length….

"Get on the floor." Vlad blinked, staring cluelessly at Felix.

"What?"

"Get down on the floor. I want to look at you." Hands were already pushing Vlad's shoulders down, and soon he found himself lying face-up on the rough wood floor, gazing up at Felix, who had a wide grin plastered on his features. "It seems I made a very good investment today," Felix said, his grin stretching further. "I'm impressed." The heat in Vlad's face was so intense it made his ears ring; he could literally feel the blood pumping in his neck. Lying prostrate and naked on the floor as that man _inspected_ him… it was unbearable. His eyes snapped open only when he realized Felix was moving—

He gasped. Felix's shoeless foot was _on _him, _there_, gently rubbing up and down. Vlad squirmed, hands clenching and unclenching, wanting it to stop… and _not _wanting it to stop. Because as much as he hated it, hated the man and what he was doing to him and hated himself for submitting to it, it felt _good_. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure up his spine, and, try as he might, Vlad couldn't stifle a small moan as it escaped his throat. He heard Felix chuckle at the sound.

"Doesn't take much to get you going, huh?" he said with a smirk. His voice was thick with a combination of lust and condescension. "You're so uptight… When was the last time you got off?" Vlad turned his head to the side, utterly humiliated. He couldn't believe how quickly was losing control… and yet even at that moment he felt his back arch weakly against the floor in response to Felix's ministrations.

"Oh no you don't," Felix said, and his foot pressed down, _hard_. Vlad cried out in unexpected discomfort and looked up to see the man glaring down at him. "I want you to look at me. I want you to watch and know that _I'm_ the one doing this to you." His foot pressed harder; Vlad hissed in pain. "Understand?"

"Yessss," Vlad managed to say. But the foot only ground into his sensitive skin deeper, causing him to nearly scream.

"Yes _what?_"

"Y-Yes _sir_," he groaned, twisting in pain. The pressure lifted, and Vlad released a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding only to have the air catch in his throat again as Felix resumed the stroking. The friction was stronger this time and felt even better; Vlad could feel the pleasure coiling in his abdomen and knew he was already getting hard. He watched Felix through lidded eyes, watched the man's cruel and hungry face watching _him_ as he panted and strained beneath him. And that face made Vlad sick, god, he hated himself for liking the pleasure the man was giving him, but he did, he couldn't help it, and—

Felix stopped. A whimper of objection escaped Vlad before he could stop it, and he watched, half relieved, half frustrated, as the man stepped forward and knelt down, straddling his waist.

"You liked that, didn't you?" Vlad flushed and bit his lip. Felix grinned, leaning close into him. "Tell me the truth."

"Mmm… yeah…." Felix sighed, sitting back. A sneer broke out across his face before he arched back, pulling his fist up and slamming it down into the square of Vlad's chest. Vlad jerked and sputtered, wind knocked from his lungs, and he barely had time to get his bearings before the fist came down on him again, this time hitting his shoulder, then his jaw, then his face, again and again and again. When Felix finally stopped, his hand was splattered with blood and tears were streaming down Vlad's face. The dense air in the room filled with the sounds of his sniveling.

"You deserved that for liking it," Felix finally spat, breathing hard. "You're disgusting." And Vlad believed it. He really did.

"I hope you didn't think I was about to do something nice for you, Vlad," Felix muttered. He leaned in close again, grabbing a hold of Vlad's broken face and staring down mercilessly into his glistening eyes. "_Whores_ don't deserve nice things." Reaching around into his back pocket, the man smiled and revealed a small pocketknife, snapping the blade open. Vlad's eyes widened in fear, reflecting the glinting metal as it came to rest just under his chin.

"What are you?" asked Felix, eyes ferocious and cold. "Tell me what you are."

"A whore." The words escaped Vlad's throat as a sob. Tears stung the open gashes covering his face.

"Very good. And whose whore are you?"

"Yours." It was difficult to speak through the heavy sobs racking his body.

"Yes you are." Felix let the tip of the blade slip down Vlad's neck, letting it come to rest on his chest. "I think we should let the world know that, Vlad." Smiling, he dug the metal into Vlad's skin, tracing out painful letters. Vlad yelped and grimaced, his arms straining uselessly under Felix's weight.

"Knowing what you are is important, after all," Felix mumbled as he worked. "So I want to make sure you don't forget. And everyone you love, Vlad, everyone you care about enough to reveal yourself to, they should know as well. They should know that you sold your whole self to me for an extension on your rent. For _time_, Vlad!" He was laughing coldly now. Vlad closed his eyes against the words but they managed to penetrate him as easily as the blade. "You're pathetic. And they should know. They should know that whatever happens, you. Belong. To. Me." Felix finished with the knife and looked down approvingly at his work. "I'll let you admire that later," he said, slipping the pocketknife away. His tone was deadly. "Right now, I think we're ready for the main attraction."

Felix pushed himself up onto his knees and wrapped his arms around Vlad, who moaned as his sore and throbbing torso was squeezed. Chuckling, Felix lifted Vlad and dumped him unceremoniously over onto his face, pressing his body into Vlad's back and nuzzling his hair. Vlad couldn't move; he was numb and petrified with pain and fear. He began to tremble as he heard the rustling of clothes being removed and cast to the ground. Felix's fingers worked their way around his hips.

"Up," the man ordered, and he yanked Vlad's pelvis up until Vlad was resting on his elbows and knees. Vlad felt so weak his vision quavered and he thought he was on the verge of collapse. Felix's naked body pressed close to him, the man's face near his ear.

"Now, you're going to prove to me how much you want that time, Vlad," he whispered heavily. "And I know you want it _so badly_, don't you? You're just beside yourself." His fingers worked their way across Vlad's chest, scratching, smearing the blood there and coating themselves in it.

"So I want to hear you beg for it."

Vlad inhaled sharply as a finger was thrust into his entrance, lubricated by his own blood, followed closely by a second and then a third. They moved quickly and harshly and Vlad cried out in pain, dipping his head down and pressing his forehead into the floor. And just as quickly as they had been inserted, they were gone. Vlad grit his teeth and waited, absolutely horrified of what he knew would follow. He could hear the man behind him groan as he prepared himself….

Felix leaned over Vlad, the head of his stiff member just grazing Vlad's entrance.

"Beg me," he murmured. "Beg me to do this to you. Tell me you want it." Vlad tried to speak, but all that emerged from his throat was a deep sob. Felix dug his nails into the slices in Vlad's chest, causing the man to jump and cry out in pain. "BEG ME TO FUCK YOU!_"_ he roared.

"Ah, oh god… god… please," wailed Vlad between sobs. "_Please… please, sir, please fuck me—Ah, AHH!_"

His words dissolved into screams as Felix slammed into him, rough and all at once, sending a wave of intense pain tearing up his spine and into the back of his skull. Vlad could hardly breathe; the air locked in his lungs and his mouth was filled with blood and pitiful gurgling sounds…. Felix paused, positioning himself inside his victim properly. His eyes rolled and a loud groan of pleasure escaped him as he felt the tense walls clench around his throbbing organ.

"God, you're so tight," he mumbled, strengthening his grip on Vlad's bony hips. "It's perfect—" He nearly pulled out before thrusting into Vlad again, starting a slow, agonizing rhythm. Vlad found his voice; a loud scream echoed from his throat each time Felix pushed into him. It wasn't sexy, it wasn't pleasurable in the least, it was just rough, brutal sex in a cold room on a cold floor, and it racked every inch of Vlad's body with agony and shame. Through the haze of his suffering he heard Felix's voice above him.

"You're mine," the voice said between thrusts. "You're my bitch. Say it."

"I'm your bitch." The voice was his own and yet not his own; it was higher and seemed to be coming from far away.

"You want this. You want me in you."

"Yeah…"

"SAY IT!" A punch connected with the middle of Vlad's back, sending his head careening into the ground and making his muscles clench, eliciting a loud combination of moaning and laughter from a nearly delirious Felix.

"I want it! I want you in me!" Vlad screamed into the floor, head reeling, spurred on by the rush of adrenaline from the punch. But it began to fade in mere seconds. Vlad knew he couldn't take much more—the edges of his vision were slowly turning black and a feeling of dense numbness was climbing over his limbs….

"_Yes…_" moaned Felix. He could feel that he was close, so close… god, it felt so good it was almost painful. Dominating this pathetic fuck was the best feeling he'd ever experienced; that broken and completely submissive body was his to do with as he pleased… whatever he wanted, for as _long_ as he wanted…. It was his to control. He slowed his pace, wanting to draw it out as long as he could. But he could sense Vlad's body going limp beneath him—

"Wake up!" Vlad felt a hand whip across the back of his head, stunning him back into the present. With a gasp his eyes flew open and focused, and the waves of pain that had started to fade along with his consciousness flared, tripling in intensity. "Stay awake you little shit!" Felix hissed in his ear. "Pass out before I'm done and the deal is off, got it?"

"Yes…_ngh_…sir…."

"You're a fast learner… that's good." Felix drew out slowly and slammed back fast, relishing in the sensation and the little whimpers of pain he drew from Vlad at every thrust. "You're smart… learn your place… quickly." It was getting more and more difficult to speak as the need for release swelled within him, driving him to move harder, faster.

Vlad shut his eyes tight, trying desperately to float away from the scene and recede into his mind, but all he found there was an audience for his humiliation, faces from his past that rose up to watch the unfolding scene:

His father, his face cold and hard and indifferent, crossing his arms and looking away, too disgusted to spare his son a second glance—

His mother, eyes blotchy and red and filled with tears, falling to her knees with her face in her hands as she saw what her beloved little boy had become, crying out to him, asking him why—

Jack, spasms of horror and embarrassment and rage flitting one after another across his pale face, barely able to look—

And Maddie. And Maddie, whose face was the most painful of all because it was blank, just a hollow stare that communicated nothing and everything all at once. It was the look she'd given Vlad when he told her he detested Jack and that he was moving away, and the look she'd given him when he asked her to come with him, and the look she'd given him when she'd refused. And that was what he hated most about her, the way she could crush him like that just by giving him _nothing_, because he wanted her to love him so badly and that look made it clear she never, ever would again—

"God, I'm _sorry!_" cried Vlad suddenly, sobbing hard into the floor, pounding his shaking fists against the wood. He couldn't bear the pressure of their eyes upon him any longer, knowing they were the people he cared about the most and that he had failed each of them in turn. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…." It was all Vlad could say, and he repeated it over and over, choking out the words between pants and sobs and groans.

His breakdown pushed Felix over the edge. The man came hard upon hearing his little slave burst into apologetic sobs, squeezing Vlad's torso as he rode the orgasm, screaming in delight. Vlad gasped, gritting his teeth at the uncomfortable sensation of the man's cum spurting into him, dripping out and over his inner thighs to mix with blood in a slick, sticky mess.

For a few moments neither man moved save their heaving chests, but soon Felix pushed himself off Vlad and pulled out of him, sitting back and using the floor to support his frame, exhausted. Vlad, no longer held up by the man, slumped onto the ground with a soft whimper. He felt dirtied and used. He wanted to die there, just close his eyes and fade away into space, where he wouldn't have to think or feel anymore, where everything could just stop….

With a tired groan Felix stood up. Grasping the arm of the couch for support, he nudged Vlad's shoulder with his foot, turning him so he could see his face.

"Look at me." Vlad moaned in pain but managed to open an eye halfway. "Get your shit and get out of my apartment," Felix ordered, jerking his thumb back at Vlad's discarded clothes before pointing to the door. "Understand?" Vlad choked on a sob but managed a nod.

"Yes sir." The honorific slipped out automatically. Vlad didn't care. Felix scoffed and turned for the back rooms.

"You have one week," he called after Vlad, who hadn't moved. "That's it." A door slammed behind him, and Vlad was alone.

"Yes sir," he whispered.

In years to come, Vlad wouldn't remember how he made his way from Felix's apartment to his own. The remainder of that night would lodge in his memory as flashes of consciousness, still frames, like a scrapbook of out of focus photos and scraps of forgotten things. He recalled the round drops of blood he saw on the floor as he pushed himself up, and the confusion of trying to pull his pants on, to somehow cover the body of which he was now ashamed. He recalled fumbling with his key at his door, and his neighbor's stunned face as she watched him, sobbing and bloodied and half-dressed. Her mouth gaping, trying to form words, and how he closed the door on her and locked it tightly before she could do so.

He recalled standing in the bathroom, staring at the reflection of a person he didn't want to recognize. That everything about him hurt. His nose was swollen and black and blue and appeared to be broken. His chest and arms were covered in sickening green bruises. Red. Red was everywhere. Caked in crusty dark streaks in his nostrils and face and hair and chest, flaking off onto the surface of the sink like hellish snow. And etched right below his clavicle, jagged cuts just visible beneath a layer of sweat and blood, the words "FELIX'S WHORE" shone upon his skin, mocking him with their bluntness and their permanence.

He recalled the noise of shattering glass, the shock of seeing his reflection crack and falter and fall away, and having to pull his bleeding knuckles from the few shards that remained of the mirror. He remembered hearing screaming, accusations and blame and hurt that persisted until his throat was raw, and it sounded so much like his father's voice it took him many years to quietly admit to himself that it had been his own.

But it had sounded so much like his father.

And he recalled curling into a ball on the tile floor, hugging himself tightly, weeping and praying and hoping that come morning he'd discover it had all been a dream, just a sick illusion, and that all of it would be gone.

And that when morning did come, how none of it was.

And despair.

And despair.

And despair.


	6. Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

Wow. So I'm back, guys. Did you think I'd abandoned you? I'm really sorry about how long it's taken me to get this posted, but you know, things just come up... oh life, you keep getting in the way of my twisted little hobbies.

To be fair, though, I have been quite busy. But perhaps you'll be excited to know that I actually wrote an entire other chapter before I finished this one, though the other chapter doesn't occur for a while. Still, it's nice to have a bit of direction while I'm writing. And that's also why I'm so late posting this; I'm getting to the point where I need to decide where this story is going, and this chapter contains the seeds for important events that will unfold later on. So I had to be careful what I included and how I included it.

I also woke up one morning with an idea for a disgustingly sexual Vlad and Danny oneshot (which tells you something about myself). Literally, I shut off my alarm, sat up in bed, and was suddenly like, "oh my god. idea!" Really, I'm sure thinking like that is indicative of something terrible. In any case, I'm attempting to make that work right now as well. I'm sure it will get posted eventually.

But enough of all this. On to chapter five!

**V. Vulnerability**

It was darkness. But it was something more as well, something thick and tangible that pressed into him, holding him. Like water. It was in his lungs and throat and up his nose; he was choking on it, suffocating…. But no, impossible, because if that was the case he would have drowned long ago, and he wasn't struggling and it didn't even hurt. Maybe he was dead. But perhaps not, and perhaps the answer didn't matter; in a place where his fingertips felt miles away, making any assessment about life and death stretched his mind beyond the threshold of perception. In this weird plane, all he could tell was that he _was_.

And that he wasn't alone.

He was, and yet he wasn't. There was something else there, something fighting for space and recognition, something… familiar. A memory, or a feeling. A whim. Something he'd forgotten he ought to have remembered that was now trying to catch his attention, to whisper something important in his ear. Because it really was crucial that he recall….

Words.

He was hearing them. Feeling them and seeing them and smelling them as they rebounded through the void and lit up his senses. They were all around him, filling up the vacuum, multiplying and stirring and churning in a great movement of meaning and significance. But he couldn't understand. He was so close to being able to, the answers were right there, all around him. And he wanted to explain, but couldn't, wanted to reach out and catch them, but couldn't, and so in that great chaos of information he was left ignorant, caught up in frustration and despair and anger at what he couldn't do.

And that feeling was familiar as well.

That realization was jarring, and he felt his body fly together and convalesce at the thought, and he found he had a body again and, oddly enough, that he'd been aware of it all along, and suddenly he sensed that he was being watched and had been watched for some time, because the pressure of the gaze upon him was something to which he was accustomed, though he'd only become aware of it at that moment. And now that he had eyes and a face and a neck he turned, trying to see the face of his observer even as the space dissolved around him, and there was a face there but it was only a watery shadow, nothing but the glint of metal and the grim weight of an eternity of absolution and beyond that, far beyond, just the faintest whisper of a sad, knowing smile.

---

Vlad woke up. He was breathing hard and fast, and his chest burned as though he had been underwater and had just managed to break the surface for air. As his eyes fluttered open he became dimly aware of the Fenton's living room, suspended at an odd angle. It took him a moment to realize the angle was due to the fact that he was lying facedown on the ground, his face smashed sideways into the rough carpet. The rough, _wet_ carpet. He was crying. Or at least he had been; slick tears were running down his face, collecting and pooling in the fibers below him. Vlad lay still, unresponsive, trying to think.

Why? What had happened? There was the party, he remembered that, and the drinking, and Maddie kissing him on the cheek, and Jack throwing up on his pants, and Danny… and, and _Danny_….

And it all came back. Danny touching him, kissing him, and their tongues together, and that frenzy of heat and irresistible pleasure…. And the clone, oh god, the clone, and the accusing and the pleading and the argument and—

Vlad twitched, his thoughts interrupted. Something was missing. Something important.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and, though it made him feel foolish for doing so, found himself looking to make sure both his feet and hands were still attached to his body. Whatever he was missing, it felt that basic, that integral. But there was a hole in him; something had been removed, he was sure. But he was all there, so what was it? What _was _it? The answer niggled at the edge of his consciousness, flitting away whenever he tried to pin it down. The pounding in his head made thinking even more difficult, and his shoulder was killing him; why did his shoulder hurt like hell? Unthinkingly, he rubbed the spot and frowned—

And then he had it. He knew what was missing. But he didn't want to say it… no… there was no way, simply _no way_ it could be possible. So it couldn't be true. But it was, oh god, he knew it was. But how?

How could his ghost powers be gone?

And not just suppressed, not merely inaccessible… just _gone_… like he'd never had them at all. Vlad's heart was pounding. He felt a cold sweat break out across his entire body as the icy tendrils of panic began to twist themselves up his spine. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. It wasn't. It wasn't. It wasn't—

Slowly, Vlad raised a hand and pressed it to the couch beside him, focusing. But try as he might, he couldn't phase through it. Why? He could remember how to phase… damnit, he could remember _exactly_ how phase, he could remember how it felt…. But now the talent was lost, and the couch pressed back against his fingers, completely solid and with all the force physics demanded of it. Vlad's hand slid to the floor. This wasn't what he'd wanted. He'd wanted to stop using his ghost powers… but he hadn't wanted to _lose_ them. He'd had them for thirty years, more than half his life; how could he cope with losing something that was such a part of him, and had been for such a long time? And how? How could it have possibly happened?

His eyes roamed across the room, lost. He felt helpless and… and _vulnerable_. He felt sick. His head was pounding. He was lost and helpless and vulnerable and sick and his head was pounding and _god fucking damnit_, why did his shoulder hurt so badly? Why….

Vlad's eyes snapped open, breath caught in his throat. Where was it? He moved, hands and eyes searching the floor around him, knowing it had to be somewhere close—

And there it was. Gleaming innocently on the carpet a few feet from his left, neat and clean and bearing no trace of the damage it had done just hours before. The knife. The knife that was a prototype, that wasn't supposed to work. Vlad reached and picked it up, steadying his shaking hands enough to pull the blade apart.

Even without his glasses, even through the fog of panic and hangover-induced discomfort, Vlad could tell it wasn't functioning. It looked operational, and parts of it were, but mostly it was just a pretty show, a lot of lights and wires and circuitry that did nothing but bear witness to a forty-year-old tinkering habit he could never really put down. In theory, the knife worked. But what was theory, really? A lot of guessing and formulae and nights spent hunched over a workbench when he should have been sleeping. Nothing conclusive. Nothing that could have even come close to doing what it appeared to have done. So it shouldn't have, _couldn't have_, worked. But it had. How?

Vlad needed to think. He knew that about himself. If he couldn't figure his way out of a problem, he simply needed to give himself time to think and an answer would come. So he didn't need to panic; he'd think of something. He couldn't, however, think here. Not at the Fenton's. So that was it; good, he had a first step. He needed to leave.

His planning was interrupted by the sound of footfalls on the stairs behind him.

"Oh, Vlad, you're already up." Maddie's voice. Vlad dropped the knife in surprise, accidentally nicking his finger.

"Maddie!" Vlad remembered what a mess he looked only after scrambling to his feet. In many ways she didn't look much better; Maddie was barefoot and clad in a robe, dark circles under her eyes and her face grey and spent. Her short hair stuck out from her head at all angles. They stared at each other for a moment, both realizing at the same time that they'd never seen each other so out of sorts. Him in his boxers, her in her robe. It was like some kind of twisted morning after. At any other time Vlad would have killed for this… but now, after everything that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours, it was just weird.

"I don't really look… uh… presentable," Vlad mumbled, smiling timidly and running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to flatten it. "Sorry."

"Whatever, Vlad," said Maddie, shrugging the subject off. "Just look at me." She stifled a yawn and started into the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"

"Please." And Vlad followed along behind her, glancing nervously back at the knife as he went. He could only deal with so many things at once.

The kitchen was still trashed from the night before; food and dishes sat in crowded piles on every surface. Vlad noticed, and was a bit surprised, that the wall clock read nearly 11:00. He found a disgruntled Maddie staring at the mess when he entered the room, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. She obviously hadn't remembered just what a state of total destruction the house was in.

"I don't really remember it being so bad last night," she grumbled, turning to Vlad and indicating the mess. "Do you?"

"Well…." Vlad cocked his head to the side, surveying the room but not really talking about the room at all. "Things always tend to look a little worse in the morning, I suppose." Maddie grinned.

"Oh, Vlad, always the optimist," she said, shuffling to a cabinet and pulling out a container of ground coffee and a packet of filters. "Even now." Vlad blinked. _Even now?_ What did that mean? Was she talking about—Could she really mean—She was smiling, but was she actually referring to—?

"Is there, ah, anything I can do?" Vlad asked, squelching the unnerving questions with another train of thought.

"Oh, no Vlad, don't worry about it, you're the guest," Maddie said, dumping a pot of water into the back of the coffeemaker. "Just sit down." She paused. "Well, actually, would you mind getting the paper?" Vlad nodded and turned for the front door.

"You still like cream in your coffee?" she called after him. Vlad paused. She remembered. After all this time, she remembered that one little thing about him.

"Uh, no," Vlad answered. "Black, please." He hadn't put cream in his coffee in years. Maddie nodded slowly, watching the coffee pot hum to life with a furrowed brow, as if the change signified something important.

It was weird. Vlad couldn't keep from thinking it. Ten minutes later and they were sitting at the table together, sipping coffee with the _Tribune_ divided up between them, Maddie scribbling away at the crossword, Vlad, having finally broken down and donned the pair of reading glasses he'd stowed in his overcoat, running an eye down the stocks after glancing at the stories on the first page. They were sitting together. Like a married couple. And it wasn't uncomfortable. It was just weird. Just… just unexpected, Vlad thought, like so much else that had happened to him here. But if Maddie noticed the strangeness of their circumstances, she didn't let on.

"Vlad." She poked him in the arm with her pen to get his attention. "Vlad, I need a six letter word for knickknacks."

"What?" Vlad looked up from the paper. "Knickknacks?" Maddie nodded, not taking her eyes off the puzzle. "Okay, umm…." Vlad narrowed his eyes, trying to think. He'd always liked crossword puzzles but he'd stopped doing them ages ago. He didn't know why. Probably because they reminded him of Maddie, who'd always done them in college.

"Oh!" Vlad snapped his fingers as the answer came to him. "Curios."

"That's it!" said Maddie happily, filling in the blanks. "Thanks. It's nice to have someone to help me with these." She tapped the paper with her pen, flashing Vlad a smile. "Jazz is off at school, you know, she has that internship, and Danny… well, he's just so grown up all of a sudden…." Vlad had to suppress a shudder. Grown up indeed.

"And Jack," Maddie continued. "Well, bless his heart, he tries, but you know… he usually thinks the answers all have to do with ghosts." She was scribbling again. Vlad stared at her over the top of the paper, lost for words. Suddenly her pen stopped. She took a deep breath, keeping her head down. "But he's a good man, Vlad. You know that."

Vlad's blood seemed to congeal in his veins. Because there was something pointed in that last sentence, something she was telling him that went beyond mere words. The seconds ticked by like hours.

"Vlad—"

"Maddie—"

They interrupted each other and paused awkwardly, each waiting for the other to begin again. But before either could they were cut off by the sounds of someone padding down the stairs. They turned to the entrance just in time to see Danny slump into the kitchen, looking tired and rumpled and in the same jeans and shirt he'd been wearing the night before.

"Oh, hi honey," said Maddie, voice warm but strained.

Danny paused, eyeing his mother and Vlad suspiciously; Vlad's fingers tightened on the newspaper he was holding so hard his knuckles turned white. As if this morning couldn't get any worse—

But Danny only yawned.

"Is there any coffee left, mom?" he mumbled sleepily, heading for the counter and peering into the pot.

"Yeah, I made enough for everyone," Maddie answered. "Help yourself. I didn't make breakfast, though, I'm sorry, I just got up and I'm not feeling a hundred percent after last night…." Danny laughed, pulling out a chair to sit down at the table with them.

"Mom, seriously, you don't need to make me breakfast anymore. You know… cereal, milk, I think I can handle it." He took a long sip of coffee. Maddie pouted.

"Well, I know that, Danny. But you're not home very often these days, and I just want to take care of you…while I… can…." Her voice trailed away. "Danny, what is that?" Her eyes were wide and fixed on Danny's neck, fixed on the spot at which Vlad been weakly staring since he noticed it when Danny had sat down. The spot on Danny's neck where a circular red welt and partially healed scab stood out against pale skin. Vlad felt his stomach fall out of him. Danny arched an eyebrow, genuinely confused, and glanced around.

"What?" He looked up at the two adults. "What are you staring at?"

"Y-Your-Your neck, Danny," stammered Maddie. Danny's hand shot up to feel his neck, and he winced as a finger ran against the sore scab. "Is-Is that a… a…." And her face darkened and she frowned at her son, having decided that yes, it was indeed what she thought it was. Danny saw the look and smiled meekly, trying to shrug it off.

"Aw, mom, it's not a big deal—"

"Danny, I told you to behave yourself last night," Maddie interrupted flatly. She paused. "Were you drinking?" She took the noncommittal noise Danny uttered as a yes, and shook her head, rubbing her temples. "Who were you with?"

"What?"

"Who were you with, Danny? Who did—did that?" She pointed to the love bite. "Was it Tucker?"

"No it wasn't Tucker!" Danny practically yelped, gagging on a mouthful of coffee in the process. He glared at his mother. "Tucker's with Sam now, I told you that." His eyes were dark. Maddie frowned as if that was something she wasn't quite able to believe.

"Than who was it?"

Danny paled and hesitated, biting his lip. Vlad couldn't breathe. His hands were shaking but he didn't dare set the paper down; he needed it to hide behind. Because this was it. His entire life was about to be undone, right here, because of one little drunken mistake. This was it.

"Answer me, Danny!"

"Look, I don't remember, okay?" Danny muttered, rubbing the spot and glaring across the table at his mother. And Vlad could tell it was the truth. He nearly laughed as a wave of relief broke across him, but he caught himself in time. "It's not really any of your business, anyways," Danny finished.

"Not any of my business?" Maddie repeated. "You're my son, Danny! What you do is my business! And at your father's party… how am I supposed to trust you?"

"Oh come on, mom!" Danny scoffed. "Everyone was completely smashed last night! And don't tell me you never tried anything when you were my age."

"Danny!" Maddie scolded. Danny turned to Vlad, grinning.

"Okay, Vlad, you were there. Tell me my mom was a saint back in college. Tell me you were. Or dad." Vlad felt himself blush crimson, an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.

"I…." But he couldn't finish the sentence. Danny sat back.

"Okay, yeah, see? No one is when they're my age." Maddie pursed her lips, face unreadable. Finally she leaned back in her chair, sighing.

"Don't test me today, Danny," she said heavily, taking a sip of her now cold coffee. "I'm not in the mood." Danny's shoulders slumped and he moodily nursed his mug, and the two Fentons sat in silence, seemingly having forgotten Vlad, who sat motionless between them, uncomfortable at having been caught in the middle of the family squabble. He was torn between wanting to leave and not wanting to draw attention to himself. After a few minutes, Maddie stood and moved to the sink.

"I'm gonna clean up a bit and then make breakfast, okay?" she mumbled to no one in particular. "Danny, will you show Vlad upstairs and give him some fresh clothes?" Vlad started.

"Oh Maddie, that's really not necessary, I'll… uh…." But what could he do? He didn't even have pants that weren't covered in Jack's vomit. "Well… okay… I suppose." He turned to Danny, who eyed him dully before standing up and motioning for Vlad to follow.

"We should just get out of here for a while," Danny muttered to Vlad as they left the kitchen. "She always cooks and cleans when she gets moody and depressed." Vlad narrowed his eyes. Maddie got depressed? Really? He supposed everyone did sometimes, but it was so odd for him to think of it happening to _her_. She always seemed so happy…. In his memories, whenever he thought of her, she was always happy. Well, almost always.

Pouting and sullen, Danny stomped up the stairs, and Vlad followed him, though he kept a wary distance. Now that they were alone, the awkwardness of their proximity increased ten-fold for Vlad, and he crept along quietly behind Danny, afraid that any sudden movement, that any conversation at all, would make the boy remember what had happened just hours ago. It was so _obvious _to Vlad; everything reminded him of it—the bite on Danny's neck, the bruises on his arms, the reddish scratch on his nose from when Vlad had slammed him into the wall, and not just that, but the way the boy moved, the sly grin he'd shot Maddie over the table, his indifference towards sex…. How could Danny not recall a thing?

And yet Danny's failure to remember his encounter from the night before wasn't Vlad's only problem; there was something altogether different about the boy this morning, and Vlad soon realized, feeling queasy as he did, what it was. Vlad couldn't sense him.

He hadn't realized how dependent he'd become on his ghost sense. Now that it was gone, however, it was as if whole layers of the universe, layers that had once been at his disposal to explore, were now closed to him. And it was the truth—years of paranormal investigation had taught him not only that ghosts were everywhere, but that their presence altered the mortal world. He'd learned to detect those presences, and to feel them surround him constantly like a million silent whispers had become customary, routine. But not anymore. Now he felt blind. And, oddly enough, _alone_.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Danny turned and pushed open the door to his room, leading Vlad inside. The boy tramped listlessly to a nearby dresser, yanked open a drawer, and began rummaging through the mess of clothes inside. Unbeknownst to him, Vlad had stopped short of the door and was surveying the room, stomach twisted up into knots at the disconcertingly peculiar situation.

"Here." Danny shoved a ball of clothes into Vlad's arms. "That shirt'll probably fit. It's bigger than this one," he half-mumbled, yawning and tugging on the fabric of his tight yellow tee.

Vlad inspected the garments. Shirt, boxers, pants… Vlad paused, frowning, before unbundling the pants to look at them properly. They looked about his size, but the style was all wrong—they were faded and ragged around the edges and looked wholly and completely like something a teenager would wear. A teenager. Not him.

"What are these, Daniel?" Vlad held the garment up. Danny stared.

"Uh… pants. What?"

"Do you really expect me to wear these? Look at them! I'll look ridiculous."

"Ooh, I'll look ridiculous," mocked Danny, smirking. "Listen to you!" Vlad frowned. "But no, you won't. You'll look like you've got a fashion sense is what you'll look like."

"I have a fashion sense!" Vlad balked. But very little common sense, apparently, he thought immediately after speaking. Why was he debating this? Danny rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, of like, a fifty-year-old businessman."

"I _am _a fifty-year-old businessman," said Vlad dryly, peering at the boy over the rims of his glasses. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Well, that doesn't mean you have to dress like it all the time. Ties and suits and all that shit… it makes you seem standoffish. Just lighten up a little." Vlad froze. Lighten up. What the clone had said. He looked at the pants again before balling them up and stuffing them under his arm.

"Fine." But Vlad was still skeptical. It was, however, only a temporary change. He'd find himself a more suitable outfit soon enough. Danny nodded.

"Look, I'm gonna take a shower," he said. "You can too if you want—" Vlad felt a twinge of color rise in the tips of his ears "—there's another bathroom across the hall."

"Mm, well, thank you, Daniel," said Vlad, hearing the strain in his own voice. Of course Danny hadn't meant… _that_. Why did he even think…. Oh well. Best not to dwell on it. He turned to leave.

"Wait, Vlad." Vlad stopped short.

"Yes?"

"Why do you call me that?" Danny's annoyance was evident even in his tired voice.

"Call you what?"

"Daniel. No one calls me that except you."

"It's your name."

"Yeah, maybe like, on my birth certificate, but for twenty years no one's called me anything but Danny, so that's more my name than Daniel will ever be. Just let that condescension shit die already, man." Vlad narrowed his eyes.

"It's not about condescension, _Daniel—_" Vlad emphasized the name "—it's about accuracy. Daniel is your given name; that's what I'll call you." Danny crossed his arms, not hiding the fact that he wasn't completely sold on Vlad's explanation.

"Well fine. In that case I suppose I'll call you Vladimir from now on." Vlad could feel his muscles stiffen and his jaw clench at the sound of the name. Danny caught the response and grinned.

"Look," said Vlad, voice low. "I'd really rather you didn't."

"Why not? Vladimir's your _given_ name, isn't it?"

"It is, but—"

"It's not fair you get to have a nickname when you refuse to use anyone else's. What happened to being accurate—?"

"Look, Vladimir was my father's name, alright? Not mine." Vlad growled. Even he was surprised by how nasty the tone in his voice had become. "So don't call me that, got it?"

"Okay, okay, fine." Danny held up his hands in mock defense before he shifted and looked away. "Sorry."

There was sincerity in the last word. It was the way Danny lowered his voice when he said it; Vlad knew the boy understood he'd touched upon a sensitive issue. But even more shocking to Vlad was the fact that he'd just told Danny the truth—he'd never even hinted, much less admitted to, why he didn't use his full name. He supposed it was the way the boy riled him, knew just how to get under his skin… it was the _familiarity_ of Danny that made Vlad vulnerable. After all, they'd fought each other for years, spent countless hours analyzing each other and attempting to get into the other's head. They were out of practice, yes, but by now the art was so refined getting back into the habit was easy. It was dangerous, especially now that he didn't have his ghost powers to fall back upon… but it was almost thrilling.

"Vlad? Helllooooo?" Danny's voice snapped Vlad out of his reverie. He started, nearly dropping the clothes he was holding.

"What?" he barked.

"Oh, you know… you're just standing there staring off into space," Danny deadpanned, arching a brow. "Sorry if that's _normal _for you or something. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You know, that sarcasm of yours is so endearing," Vlad shot back, gathering himself up and heading for the door. "It's a gift, really. Trust me, it almost makes one forget all your shortcomings. You just about break even. Congratulations." Vlad grinned as he caught sight of Danny's glare from the corner of his eye. It felt good to have the last word. He'd almost reached the door across the hall when he heard the sounds of Danny stumbling after him.

"Okay, Vlad, wait." Vlad turned, expecting a retort or some other form of verbal abuse. Hadn't the boy ever learned to just accept defeat? But when Danny emerged from his room Vlad was surprised see him looking not upset but sheepish, almost embarrassed. His eyes were glued to the ground.

"Yes, Daniel?"

"Okay, look, this is gonna sound weird… but did you, uh…." Danny winced, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Did you maybe… happen to see who I was with last night?" The last half of the sentence spilled out in a rush, and Danny blushed slightly as he spoke, glancing up at Vlad before quickly looking to the ground again.

Vlad blinked. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. If losing his ghost powers didn't kill him, he was sure the irony of this situation would. Danny, asking _him_. Danny, after having been so brazen and willing the night before, after having made the first move, after having acted so… so _experienced_. Where had that boy gone? And who was the boy standing before him now, the boy who was so suddenly fearful, who was reduced to a nervous wreck at the prospect of having made a mistake and disappointing his mother? Because _that_ was the Danny Vlad remembered, the boy whose sarcasm and nonchalance was merely a cover for an ultimately sensitive soul. So had the years really changed the boy, or was last night's Danny just a con? Sure, the boy was drunk, but was that really the whole story? It was as if Vlad was dealing with two Danny's, not one.

But what to say? The truth? No. No, Vlad himself was having trouble stomaching that. If Danny didn't remember, thought Vlad, it was for the best. Telling him would be the worst thing to do. Better to just cut his losses and move on. _So just lie, _he thought. _Just say you don't know. _And yet something kept the words from coming.

"Look, if you don't know it's okay," Danny mumbled, turning away. "It doesn't matter. I don't really care." They both knew that was a lie. But Vlad let it go; he didn't feel much like tormenting the boy on this particular subject.

"Okay, Daniel," Vlad murmured, and he turned away as Danny retreated into his room, each gladly leaving the other alone with their thoughts.

It felt good to shower. Vlad hadn't been aware of just how disgusting he'd felt until the scalding water started to sear away a day's worth of grime and inner turmoil. The rising steam helped to clear his head; Vlad used the opportunity to rethink his situation. He refused to believe that his ghost powers were simply gone forever. So he tried to work out how and why he'd suddenly come to lose them, and what he he'd have to do to get them back. The answers lay with the knife, he was sure, and he puzzled over several possible scenarios, attempting, albeit unsuccessfully, to understand why, in stabbing a clone with it, he'd done such serious damage to himself. Vlad had given the knife to Jack as a gift… it appeared now he was going to be needing it back.

And his mind wandered further.

Wandered to Jack, and how the man didn't seem to have changed at all, to Maddie and her hidden meanings, and then, inexplicably, or so he forced himself to believe, to Danny. Danny, who drank, who smoked, who started things she shouldn't have with people who should have known better. Who wore yellow shirts and black jeans and scarves and that damned incessant smirk, who embarrassed his mother in front of her friends… and who seemed split down the middle, unsure if that was the person he wanted to be. It was a struggle with which Vlad himself could sympathize….

No wait, no it wasn't. He didn't _struggle_ with all that introspective whatnot. He was Vlad Masters, successful and powerful and so on and so forth—he'd been dealt a cruel hand but he'd _made _something of his life. And he was proud of that. So it all evened out.

_But the clone said—_

_Oh fuck what the clone said. Didn't I decide that wasn't me?_

_Than who was it?_

_…._

_Who was it?_

_It-It was…. Fuck, just shut up!_

He was talking to himself, which wasn't a good sign. And he was telling himself to shut up, which was even worse. Scowling, Vlad turned up the temperature of the water in an attempt to drive the thoughts from his mind. It worked.

But the heat made his thoughts return to Danny.

Danny, who was also showering now… which meant that every inch of his slender, angular frame would be wet and slick with soapy water, running in rivulets down the crevices of his body….

Who would see Vlad standing there in the doorway, watching him, and his long fingers would deftly brush a lock of sopping wet hair from his eyes, pale eyes that would glisten with devious delight because he wanted to be watched, loved to be watched….

And perhaps he would purse his lips coyly and act innocent, like he didn't know what to do; he'd be such a tease, but he wouldn't keep the act up for long, _couldn't_ keep it up for long, because he knew what Vlad wanted and he wanted it as well…. Already he'd be leaning into the tile wall, that wicked little mouth of his hanging open in a fight for air as his hands slowly worked their way down his body, tracing the outlines of his sinewy muscles before finally going where they both really wanted them to be, down between his legs to run along his already hardening cock—

Vlad gasped as his body slid back against the shower wall. He hadn't meant for his mind to go there so easily, and he _certainly_ hadn't meant to get so worked up at the thought of his little fantasy. But he had, and now he was fighting the desperate urge to touch himself. It was pathetic; what was he, seventeen? Couldn't he control himself better than this? But apparently not, because his hands had found their mark and he hissed in pleasure, groaning as he pressed himself further into the wall. Nothing was really going to happen between him and the boy, right? So it was okay… it was okay to just pretend....

Vlad closed his eyes and saw Danny, who cried out, head thrown back at the sensation of his fingers on himself. He'd be panting now, and he'd be trying to go slowly, but Vlad would see how difficult it was for him; he was such a sensitive little thing, after all. Still the boy would try, face flushed but determined, and his back would arch against the wall as he saw Vlad begin to move towards him, pulling off his own clothes and letting them fall carelessly to the floor….

And Danny would smile through his pants then, pleased his little show captured his lover's attention, and his lidded eyes would be so pleading, so caught up in lust and desire he could hardly think, would be _begging_ Vlad to finish what he started the night before, he needed it so badly, and Vlad would step into the shower and lean into the boy but hesitate, staring at Danny as he writhed and moaned and mewled beneath him, loving the tortured look on his face, wanting to drink it in as long as possible. But neither could resist the urge for long, and they would relent, collapsing into one another in a hot, tangled mess of pulsating ferocity—

Vlad had to grit his teeth to stifle a scream as he came, head flung back against the tile, breathing fast and hard. He rested against the wall as the waves of elation subsided, feeling the water beat into him with its dull rhythm. It had been a long time since jacking off felt that good. And as he washed his body off for the second time, Vlad had the sinking feeling that it was the new player in his imagination that had brought about the change. He shut the water off, drained, his conscience conflicting and stormy.

He didn't pay attention as he pulled on the clothes Danny had given him. Everything hugged his body tighter than he would have liked, but he ignored the feeling, oddly anxious to be dressed. It was only after he'd started brushing his teeth with a new toothbrush he'd nicked from the medicine cupboard that he stopped to look at himself in the mirror.

He looked younger in the clothes. And not just like an old guy trying to appear younger, which is how he'd half-suspected he'd look. Just younger. It was weird; he'd spent so much time in suits and ties and collared shirts he'd almost forgotten what he looked like wearing something more casual. He resumed brushing his teeth, lost in thought. So Danny had been right. He wondered what that meant.

A few minutes later Vlad emerged from the bathroom, barefoot, dressed in Danny's clothes, with his own clothes balled up under his arm. He'd left his damp hair down to dry after running his hands through it a few times to remove the knots, and put his glasses on, figuring that he might as well just admit that he needed them to see. He actually didn't mind wearing them so much this morning; before, his glasses made him look older. Distinguished, maybe, but older. Now they almost made him seem… edgy. Like they were part of an ensemble and not merely a crutch for his failing vision. Still, he'd stood in front of the mirror for nearly a minute, taking them off and on, off and on, trying to decide what looked best. He'd finally just given up and left them on.

The hallway was cold. Rubbing his arms to quell the array of goose bumps that sprang up across his skin, Vlad started for the stairs but stopped short as he caught sight of Danny in his room. The boy was fresh from the shower, dressed, and standing before a full-length mirror, neck craned to the side as he gently ran a finger over the love bite there. His face was riddled with intense focus and frustration, and he bit his lip, looking as if he was trying to—Vlad's breath caught in his throat—as if he was trying to remember who had given it to him. And that was bad. Really, truly, unbelievably bad.

Vlad's first instinct was to use his ghost powers, and it took him a panicked moment to realize why he couldn't make a damn thing happen. But even when the realization came rushing back, he found himself at a loss. He knew he should do something to distract Danny. Anything would do; the boy was classically temperamental and so it wouldn't take much. An offhanded comment, a bit of sarcasm, _anything_. But nothing came. Vlad couldn't even move; his legs were rooted to the spot, eyes glued helplessly to Danny's face as he struggled to recall the past night. Suddenly, Danny rolled his eyes.

"Damnit, Vlad, I know you're there, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't stare at me, you freak," the boy muttered, shooting the man a cold glare before turning back to the mirror. "You're so easy to sense. It's so… obvious…."

And Danny's voice dried up in his throat, and his face paled, and his eyes went wide and didn't move from the glass. And Vlad's world seemed to fall out from under him, because he knew, just knew it in his soul: Danny had remembered.


	7. Revelations

**Author's Note:**

Alright. Let's just come on out and say it: I'm the slowest writer of all time. Really, guys, I apologize. I'd been working on this chapter FOREVER, and I just kind of got to the point where I'd read and rehashed it all so many times it looked like shit no matter what I did. So I took a break for a couple of days. And the days turned into weeks. How that happened is still a mystery.

But okay, I'm back now, and this chapter is super long so quit your grumbling. A little treat to ring in the new year. Please read and review, as always. Infinite thanks yous to everyone out there who supports this story:)

Coming chapter: Wicked Business

**VI. Revelations**

_"You!" _

Danny's fierce whisper shattered the heavy silence. He stood stock-still and swallowed hard, weakly clasping the hickey on his neck. His wide eyes were focused on the mirror as though he couldn't bear to face at the man standing in his doorway. "It was you?" he rasped. "_You?_" Vlad's body felt as though it was encased in ice. It took him a long time to find his voice, and even when he did, he found he had no idea what to say.

"Daniel, I—" he began hoarsely. But Danny wasn't listening.

"Oh my god," the boy muttered to himself, rubbing his temples with shaking hands. "Oh my god. Fuck. FUCK." His fist came down hard on the dresser. Vlad barely had time to blink in surprise before Danny closed the distance between them and grabbed Vlad by his shirt, roughly pulling the bewildered man into his room and slamming the door shut behind them. He threw Vlad up against wall as soon as it was closed.

"I asked you if you knew!" he hissed, fists clenched at his sides, face contorted in a furious snarl. "I asked you if you knew and you said no!" Vlad stole a glance into Danny's fiery eyes and saw a mixture of anger and shame and… and what? Hurt? Was that possible? No, of course not. Even so, Vlad couldn't look for long; it was more than a bit embarrassing to face Danny under such circumstances, even if the boy didn't know about what had transpired in the shower. Vlad shifted awkwardly, trying to edge out from between the boy and the door.

"Look, Daniel—"

"Goddamn liar!" spat an indignant Danny, cutting Vlad off once again. He stepped back and began to pace the room, pulling at his hair, ignoring Vlad as he mumbled frantically to himself. "Why did we…? How…? I didn't think…."

Vlad crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, feeling a frown work its way across his face. This wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting from Daniel. Panic, regret and anxiety, yes; outrage at having been lied to about it, no. Not right away, at least. Still, thought Vlad, as uncomfortable as the situation was, he was not about to let Daniel simply ignore him. Vlad Masters was not _ignored_.

"Daniel," he said, surprised by how difficult it was to keep his voice level. "Daniel, we need to discuss this."

"No! I don't want to hear it, Vlad," shot Danny angrily. His gaze flicked from one object to the next, falling on nearly everything in the room except the man in his doorway. "I-I don't want to talk about it."

"Is that why you dragged me in here, then?" snapped Vlad, annoyance sharpening his tone. "To _not _talk about it? Seems a bit counterintuitive to me." Danny's face grew dark.

"That's not…" he began, voice low. "That's not what I meant. I just… just…." His face screwed up in unidentifiable emotion. "I'm just so fucking _pissed _at you!" he finally spat, rounding on Vlad and pointing an angry finger in the man's direction. "You should have told me what happened! You should have been honest with me!" Vlad narrowed his eyes.

"Hold on, Daniel," he said slowly, taking a tentative step from the door. "Are you upset because of what happened… or because I lied to you?"

"B-both," Danny stuttered, biting his lip. "It-it's the principle of the thing," he tacked on quickly. But a blush rose in the boy's cheeks and he faltered, dropping his gaze to the floor. When he spoke again his voice was small. "What happened last night, Vlad?"

"What?" Vlad could feel his anger building. "I thought-I thought you remembered!" Danny pursed his lips and shoved his hands into his pockets. Vlad stared at the boy, shaking his head in dismay and disbelief. "You… you don't remember, do you?"

"Yes I do!" the boy hissed back, glaring at Vlad. But he paused, brow furrowed. "It's just… it's all hazy, you know? I was pretty wasted…." His voice tapered off.

"God, Daniel." Vlad fell back against the door, holding his head in his hands.

"Just tell me!" Danny cried, stamping his foot in exasperation. "I know it was you, okay? But I only remember bits and pieces of what happened. Just tell me if we… uh…" He twisted his fingers together, looking uncertain. "Did we…?"

"No," Vlad answered shortly. "We didn't." He heard Danny breathe a sigh of relief.

"Good." They stood in awkward silence for a moment, both unsure of what to say next. Vlad frowned, trying to determine whether or not to tell Danny the whole truth, that they very likely would have gone much further if it hadn't been for Jack—

"We were… interrupted," Vlad finally muttered. Danny paled, his blue eyes flying wide in horror.

"_What?_ By who?"

"Your father."

"_WHAT?_" Danny wavered, turning a visible shade of green. "Oh my god, how did he—Did he see? Oh my god, Vlad, what did he… oh my god, holy _shit_, dude, oh my god—"

"_Daniel." _Vlad placed his hands on Danny's shoulders both to quell the boy's sudden influx of nervous babbling and to steady him; he looked about ready to collapse to the floor. Danny fidgeted, but swallowed and grew still. His frantic eyes traveled up to lock with Vlad's. "Jack didn't see anything, alright?" said Vlad sternly. "He was drunk, and he didn't realize what was going on. He didn't even see you. So calm down." Danny blinked but eventually nodded, chest heaving out and in, out and in.

"You shouldn't worry," continued Vlad. "Jack has a tendency to… well, to _miss_ a lot of what's going on around him." His voice, though still firm, was now softer, almost nostalgic. "Jack's smart, I'll give him that, but the man's completely oblivious. Subtlety is a language he just can't understand…." And Vlad paused, finding himself no longer talking solely about the night before. He shook his head, dragging his mind back into the present.

"But you know that," Vlad finished hastily. "He's your father, after all." He realized with a jolt that his hands were still on Danny's shoulders and pulled them away quickly, clearing his throat. Danny took a small step back, fingers running through his shaggy, damp hair.

"You shouldn't underestimate Dad," said the boy warily. "Yeah, he's completely oblivious most of the time, but with some things…." His eyes grew cloudy. "With some things he's actually quite perceptive." Vlad's face twisted in a skeptical frown. _Perceptive _was not a word he'd ever think to use to describe Jack Fenton.

"I find that rather hard to believe, Daniel." Danny only shrugged in response, crossing the room to sit down heavily on his unmade bed.

"Whatever you say, Vlad," he mumbled, staring bleakly into the floor. He nudged he edge of his carpet with his foot. "Just don't tell my parents, okay?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. Vlad scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Daniel, why on earth would I tell your parents about this?" He said, massaging the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He chuckled darkly, imagining the conversation out loud. "Oh hey, Jack, Maddie, funny story, you'll never believe what happened last night between me and your _twenty-year-old son—"_

"Quit it, Vlad." Danny's voice was terse and icy, but Vlad ignored it.

"We were both drunk, just completely hammered, right? And when I found him outside we shared a cigarette and a nice little chat about how much he hates you two before he started climbing all over me like a cat in heat—"

"_Vlad—"_

"And it's lucky you walked out when you did, Jack, because I'll be damned if the two of us didn't nearly fuck each other ragged in the _alley_ next to your house—"

"_Vlad!_"

It took Danny literally shouting his name and leaping off the bed in anger to pull Vlad out of his rant. Even in the bright morning light the man could see Danny's eyes flash that dangerous and all too familiar shade of green, and his dark sarcasm quelled when he recalled that he no longer had his own ghost powers to counter the boy's. Vlad hadn't meant to carry on so, but once he'd started it he'd found it difficult to stop. He was surprised by the acrid bitterness he'd heard in his tone, and by how quickly the emotion had boiled to the surface. Scowling at his ineptitude, Vlad tossed his hair out of his face and settled for staring despondently out the window. After a few minutes of tense silence he noticed Danny shifting about uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye, biting his lip as if he had something to say.

"_What_, Daniel?" he growled impatiently.

"Is… is that really what happened?" Danny's voice was weak. Vlad glanced over to see that the anger had melted from the boy's face, rage giving way to layers of shame and fear. And there he was again, up out of the ashes: the Danny Vlad remembered. The _vulnerable _Danny. The _innocent _Danny.

"Just about," mumbled Vlad gloomily, feeling a nauseating knot coil in his stomach. He didn't want to talk to _this _Danny about last night. _This _Danny was too much like the boy Vlad remembered, the boy who was in so many ways his father's son, the boy who was a bright, cheery, good person and who was still just _fourteen…._

"God," Danny whined, pressing his palms into his eyes. "Vlad, how could we have done something so stupid?"

Something defensive and automatic hitched in Vlad's mind at those words. He opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking.

"_We?_" he finally sputtered. "Daniel, you initiated the whole thing. And you didn't exactly act like any of it was new to you, either!" Vlad's words were little more than a snarl. "Can you really blame me?" He tucked a strand of loose hair behind his ear, flicking imaginary dust off his shirt. "What was I supposed to think?" Danny started and stared up at Vlad, lost and confused, eyes wide with shock.

"E-excuse me?"

"In fact, I'd have to say you were quite the little expert." Vlad's voice was cold and he knew it, but something about that helpless, pleading look in Danny's eyes terrified him. That, and something about the way the boy had said "_we_." And so, as if by reflex, Vlad made to push the boy away. It was easier than being part of a "we", he reasoned; in fact, distancing himself from others was something he'd gotten quite good at over the years, and, as Vlad had begun to realize earlier that morning, he knew enough about Danny to hurt the boy deeply.

"That's the kind of skill that comes from practice and practice alone," Vlad spat. "It's no wonder your mother's a nervous wreck over you." Now he was just being cruel.

Danny opened his mouth to speak, only to find he wasn't able to make a sound. His cheeks were scarlet. And Vlad could swear that there were the beginnings of tears in his eyes, though perhaps that shine was merely the result of the dark anger filling the boy's heated face. Well, good. It was better this way. Better if the boy hated him. Because there was not, was not and simply _could _not, be a "we" between him and Danny. Danny_ Fenton_, of all people.

"Last night was a mistake, Daniel," said Vlad, managing to conjure up the authoritative tones in his voice he'd learned to adopt as a CEO. "We were drunk and we weren't thinking clearly, and it was a mistake. It shouldn't have happened." He paused, watching as Danny wrapped his arms around himself, lips turned down in a tortured grimace. "And it won't happen again."

Danny's all but whimpered at the last sentence, and Vlad noticed with a twang of guilt that the boy was blinking furiously, eyes plastered on a spot on the floor near his feet. Tears, then. Well, even this Vlad could handle; after all, he'd been in this position before, said nearly the exact same things he'd just said to Daniel to other people, watched them cry and snivel and become furious with him as he broke off their relationship before it really was one. So it was no big deal, really.

_Perhaps, but you've never felt guilty about it until now, have you?_

Vlad twitched, swatting the disturbing thought from his mind like an annoying mosquito. This really wasn't the time for his conscience to kick in.

"We won't discuss what happened with anyone, agreed?" said Vlad, and when he spoke it sounded more like an order than a question. Danny hugged himself tighter before nodding quickly, refusing to look Vlad in the face. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were still bright red. "Good," muttered Vlad, turning for the door. "It's best just to forget it ever happened." His hand had just begun to turn the handle when he heard Danny mutter something muted under his breath.

"What was that, Daniel?" Vlad looked up but stopped short—the boy had disappeared.

And Vlad didn't need a ghost sense to know the room was empty.

---

Maddie was just finishing laying out brunch when Vlad made his way downstairs, mind heavy with thoughts of Danny. And the mysterious clone. And the subsequent loss of his ghost powers. It was too many things, he thought grimly. Too much to have to deal with in a single night, especially considering that it was all taking place at the home of Jack and Maddie Fenton. As he entered the kitchen, Vlad found himself wondering, not for the first time, why he'd accepted Jack's invitation at all.

Vlad was dimly aware of Maddie smiling sweetly up at him, handing him a plate and a knife and fork and saying something to him—he muttered something noncommittal in response, not really able to listen properly. He'd done well for twent-five years, kept largely away from the Fentons for twenty-five years. He'd _thought_ he'd finally managed to break whatever ties had kept them bound for so long. He'd _thought_ that had been enough time. But then Jack up and calls him out of the blue, and in a matter of days Vlad finds himself sucked back into the heart of the very storm he'd fought so desperately to escape, out his ghost powers and apparently a considerable portion of his sanity. How was that fair? After all, some bridges were better off burned.

"Morning, V-Man!" Jack's booming voice echoed through the kitchen. Vlad didn't have time to blink, much less respond, before he was cuffed in the shoulder so forcefully his nose nearly careened into the eggs Maddie had just ladled onto his plate.

"Good morning, _Jack_," Vlad growled into the food, pulling the strands of his hair that had fallen to the table away from the grease with a small sigh of annoyance. He looked up just in time to see Jack peck Maddie lovingly on the cheek as she handed a plate of food to him.

"Crazy party last night," Jack said cheerily, plopping down at the table and proceeding to pour a generous amount of syrup over a large stack of pancakes. "How'd you sleep, Vladdie? I was out like a light."

"Wonderfully," Vlad lied, watching with a mixture of awe and disgust as Jack tore into his food. Seeing the man eat was like witnessing a train wreck—one almost couldn't look away. Unfortunately, the sight obliterated what little appetite he had, and he ruefully nudged his plate away with his fork.

"Is Danny up yet?" Jack glanced at the clock and twisted his head about, scanning the kitchen as if expecting the boy to leap out of the woodwork. "He should come down for breakfast."

"Oh, don't bother him, honey," Maddie answered quickly. "He wasn't feeling too well earlier." Vlad didn't miss the subtle tension in her voice, nor the fact that she didn't look in his direction when she spoke. Jack's brow knit together.

"Hmm, well, okay," he said heavily, turning back to his plate. Vlad saw something dark flicker across Jack's face as he contemplated Maddie's answer, though the look was swept away quickly and replaced with a goofy grin.

"I want you to come down and check out the lab, Vlad," said Jack, pointing at Vlad with his fork. "Mads and I have a ton of new projects going on, you'd be proud, and—oh!" In a flash Jack bolted up from the table, darted into the living room and grabbed something off the floor before rushing back to the kitchen. "_This," _he said excitedly, slamming the object in his hand down onto the table so hard the silverware clattered in place. "We need to take a look at this."

It was, of course, the knife. Vlad eyed the gleaming blade warily before glancing up at Jack, who was still grinning like a loon.

"If this thing kicks ass like you say it can," said Jack, "then we should get started right away. It'll be revolutionary. It'll be _awesome_."

"Don't get your hopes up, Jack," interjected Vlad hesitantly. "It's only a prototype. It doesn't work." But an image of the clone's disturbingly blank face flashed through his mind. That face, and the slick warm feeling of oily blood on his face and hands and shirt— "At least I don't think it works."

"Well then we'll get it to work," said Jack, relishing in the challenge too much to notice the spasm of nausea that briefly flared on Vlad's face. "You, me and Maddie. It'll be like old times, V-Man. What do you say?"

Vlad pursed his lips in thought, eyes moving from the knife to Jack, back to the knife and then to Jack again. As distasteful as getting back to anything even mildly resembling the 'old times,' as Jack had called it, sounded, Vlad couldn't deny that getting the weapon to function was the key to regaining his ghost powers. He himself had given up on getting the thing to work ages ago… so perhaps letting Jack and Maddie take care of his dirty work wouldn't be so terrible, even if it meant he would have to work with them.

"Old times, you say?" Jack nodded hopefully. "You know, Jack," said Vlad finally, swallowing his reservations and putting on his best happy face, "there's really nothing I'd like more than that."

---

Vlad had to admit that the Fenton lab was decidedly more impressive than anything he'd been expecting. Though he'd always given Maddie plenty of credit, he'd never given Jack much at all, and as a result Vlad had expected that the 'lab' to which Jack was exuberantly ushering him would be little more than a ramshackle collection of odds and ends, interspersed only every once and a while by a working piece of equipment. What he found instead was nothing less than a sleek and sophisticated laboratory, a well-oiled machine retrofitted seamlessly into the basement of the building. It seemed that a city commission had done the Fentons well. Intricate glassware sat among shelves upon shelves of binders, books and notepads, all accentuated by the glowing light of partially disassembled machinery and the continuous soft drone of high-end equipment. Vlad noted that the Fenton ghost portal, the center of such heated conflict between him and Daniel years before, was sitting inactivated at the far wall. It looked to be in a state of disuse; several boxes and a shelf of files had been piled in front of it, and looked to have been there for some time. Jack showed Vlad absolutely everything, moving animatedly from one object to the next, all the while explaining their current projects and recent discoveries.

"So," said Jack once the extended tour was over. "Whudduya think?" He turned to Vlad, eyes nervous as though his friend's approval would make or break his entire life's work.

"It's one hell of a lab, Jack," Vlad conceded, smiling despite himself.

"I knew it," said Jack, bouncing about happily like a small child. "I knew you'd like it!" In his excitement he leaned back a bit too roughly on a bench piled with delicate equipment, sending a small test tube shattering to the ground. "Oh, damn." Both men watched as the corrosive acid spread and started to fizzle and eat away at the tiled floor.

"You want to perhaps… _do_ something about that?" asked Vlad.

"Uh, yeah…" Jack muttered. "I'll ask Maddie about it later." He nudged a nearby file box away from the spill with his foot. "Should be okay, though, the pH will neutralize in a few minutes."

"Uh-huh." Vlad said, shaking his head, the beginnings of a teasing smirk on his face. He picked up a notepad lying on the bench next to him, leisurely leafing through the pages and running his eyes across a spread of diagrams and calculations written out in Jack's nearly illegible scribble. "Typical," he muttered under his breath. "You know that breaks about fifteen federal regulations on proper lab procedure, right Jack?" Vlad finally said, pointing to the spill with the pad. Jack scoffed good-naturedly.

"You're one to talk, V-Man. I seem to remember a certain research partner who used to clock in to the lab to work at two in the morning high as a kite." Vlad pursed his lips, lightly shrugging off the accusation.

"Hey," he said. "I had work to do; I got it done. No harm no foul."

"Yeah, _work._ Work like Amy Leher?" Vlad's eyes flashed up from the notepad just in time to catch Jack's devious grin. "Was she proper lab procedure, Vlad?"

"I'm not gratifying that with a response," Vlad muttered, visibly flustered. He hastily plucked a pen off the desk and began to correct an error he'd caught buried in the equations, soothing his discomfort with the rythmicity of the mathematics. How could Jack possibly recall something like that? It happened twenty-six, twenty-seven years ago; Vlad himself hardly remembered—

"Hey, what are you writing?" Jack asked suddenly, carefully sidestepping the acid spill to peer at the notepad. "Those are my notes for the spectral converter—"

"Which you obviously didn't check carefully," Vlad snipped, feeling bit out of sorts at having been caught in the crosshairs of Jack's disturbingly accurate memory. He finished scrawling out a last few variables before handing the pad to Jack, who snatched it back possessively.

"This is all preliminary, you know," muttered Jack in defense of his work, but as he began to read over the corrections Vlad had made to his calculations his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Hey… this, this looks right," he mused brightly, a grin brightening his features. "This accounts for the drop in conductivity I kept running into at high temperatures!" He flipped through the pages, smile widening as his brain clicked into action. "If these models hold Maddie and I could have this thing built in a couple of months! We'll have something to show the review board after all."

"Review board?" asked Vlad.

"Oh god, yeah," sighed Jack, face falling. "It's part of the commission deal. Every nine months the two of us have got to head downtown and give a little presentation to the city and convince them that we've made enough progress in R&D to retain our funding. They'll pull the plug if we can't show continual development." He cracked his knuckles and rolled his eyes. "It can be a little stressful, to say the least.... Bunch of uptight suits," he muttered. "No offense, or anything."

"None taken," chuckled Vlad. "Rest assured I've been called worse." How odd to think of the always wild and spontaneous Fentons adhering to strict guidelines and federal regulations….

"Anyways," Jack said, "just how do you remember all this?" He waved the pad of equations in Vlad's face. "Twenty-five years out and you're still sharp enough to correct my notes on superconductors just by glancing at them?" Jack looked up at Vlad, grinning widely. "Just how much quantum physics does a guy need to know to be a CEO these days?"

"Oh, well," Vlad began, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I just keep up on it, you know… I read the papers published on whatever looks interesting…." His sentence trailed off when he spotted the skeptical smirk spreading across Jack's face. "What?"

"Oh come on," Jack said bluntly, the grin causing his eyes to twinkle. "You're lying." Vlad blinked.

"I am not," he shot back, but his voice faltered in surprise. Jack shrugged, crossing his arms.

"Well, maybe not _lying_, but you're definitely keeping something from me," Jack said, his voice arcing up into a light sing-song tone, chuckling at his friend's bemused expression. Vlad's heart, though, was racing. How had Jack seen through his ruse so easily? _"With some things," _Danny's words from that morning echoed through his head, _"…with some things he's actually pretty perceptive…."_

"You might as well tell me what it is," Jack continued. "Seeing as how I'm not going to let it go until you tell me." Vlad's eyes narrowed, and he clicked his fingernails against the steel bench behind him, deciding. Finally he rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Oh fine," he muttered, crossing his arms. After all, what harm could it do to tell Jack now, after all these years? "The truth is I went back to school about fifteen years ago as soon—" Vlad paused for a fraction of a second, about to say _as soon as I could afford it, _quickly revising his story "—as soon as I had the time. I finished my degrees in physics and chemistry…." He bit his lip. "…And I got my MBA."

"Vlad, are you serious?" Jack's eyes went wide. "That's amazing! Why didn't you just tell me that? Why keep it a secret?" Vlad paused and adjusted his glasses, trying to formulate a proper response… and to decide how much information was too much, even for Jack. Maybe, murmured a small part of his mind, _especially _for Jack.

"I-well, I had to use company money to pay for my education, and that meant a lot of red tape from my investors," Vlad began. "You know, it didn't look very reassuring for the CEO they were backing to ask to reallocate nearly a hundred-thousand dollars so he could finish his business degree." He took a deep breath. "And it wasn't something of which I was exceedingly proud. But in the end I managed to convince them—"

_Liar. You embezzled that money. _

Vlad froze, choking rather unglamorously on a breath of air. There was that voice in his head again, the voice that sounded like his own but twisted up and wrong. It made his skin crawl. It was louder than ever, and it was laughing.

_Crooked bookkeeping, a few well-placed calls, threats, ghost powers—that's how you operate, isn't it, Vlad? You've never really done an honest day's work in your life. Do you even know how? _

_Stop this pathetic charade. Go ahead, tell your best friend the truth about yourself; he's standing right there. Or better yet, go tell Maddie—I'm sure she'd like to know what a complete fuckup you turned out to be, that she made the right choice leaving you for Jack—_

"Vlad? Vlad?"

Jack's voice broke the crest of Vlad's mind, forcing the man back into reality. He felt queasy and frail; his head was reeling and he was gripping the bench behind him so hard his fingers stung. His legs felt liable to buckle beneath him at any second. What was that? What the _fuck _was _that?_ Vlad looked up, breathing hard, to find Jack eyeing him suspiciously.

"Vlad, you okay?" Vlad nodded, straightening himself up against the bench in an attempt to regain at least a bit of composure. Jack arched a skeptical brow. "You sure?"

"I'm fine, Jack," Vlad said curtly. But of course it was a lie—people who were _fine _didn't hear voices like that…. Was he going insane? Slowly, Vlad raised a hand to his neck to straighten his tie, only to remember that he wasn't wearing one. He frowned, swallowing the creeping fears and clearing his throat before looking back at Jack. "What, uh, what were you saying?"

"Just that it's great you went back to school," Jack said slowly, tinges of concern and curiosity coloring his voice though he was clearly anxious to get back to the previous subject. "How long did it take you?"

"Two and a half years."

"That's it?" Jack balked. "Two degrees and an MBA in two and a half years?"

"I studied chemistry and physics in college, remember?" Vlad said dully, pulling off his glasses to clean them on the hem of Danny's shirt. They weren't dirty, but he didn't want Jack to see that his hands were shaking. "Chemistry, physics and paranormal studies. I was going to triple major."

"Oh right," said Jack, head tipping thoughtfully to the side as he recalled Vlad's consistently booked college schedule.

"_So_," continued Vlad, "I didn't have to start from scratch when I went back to school. At least not with the science—that was mainly an issue of getting my old credits to transfer and finishing up what I needed for the degrees. Honestly, I spent most of those two and a half years on the MBA."

"Well, your dad would be proud," said Jack, fiddling absentmindedly with a device on the bench behind him. "Wasn't he always telling you to quit science for business?"

"_Ordering_, was more like it," muttered Vlad, frowning. "A Soviet capitalist… that man was contradiction incarnate." His voice was low and bitter. "And a complete son of a bitch." Vlad slid the glasses back up his nose, his eyes fiery like angry coals. He crossed his arms and glared disgustedly off to the side, the unnerving voice temporarily forgotten and his mood spoiled at the mention of his father. Jack shifted his weight uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, Vlad," he said, laughed weakly, "four degrees. That's pretty impressive… I know we called you crazy for taking all those classes back then, but, I mean, I suppose it all worked out in the end."

"Yes, well, I would have graduated sooner if it wasn't for…" Vlad glanced at Jack over the rims of his glasses. "…certain _incidents_." Jack's eyes widened and fell to the floor. The temperature of the room seemed to drop about ten degrees.

"You mean the accident," he murmured quietly. It wasn't a question. Vlad glared up at Jack, sharp eyes flashing behind the newly shined lenses.

"I do." Vlad didn't care to check the vehemence in his tone. He couldn't help it; what was Jack thinking, nosing about his past and bringing up his _father_…. Vlad was positively livid. He _wanted_ Jack to feel absolutely terrible about what he'd done, if only for a moment. The idiot deserved it. And for the briefest second Vlad saw a spasm of dark emotion flit across Jack's downturned face, though it vanished before he could identify it properly.

"I…" Jack began, face pained. "Vlad, it-it wasn't supposed to happen; you have to believe me, I didn't know…."

"It happened a long time ago, Jack," interrupted Vlad tersely. As satisfying as it was to see that hollow look on Jack's face, the truth was that the lab accident was something Vlad had never been comfortable talking about. "It happened in the past, and that's where it belongs. The past. Okay?" Jack winced before swallowing and nodding firmly.

"Okay, you're right. Best to just move on." He turned and picked up the knife Vlad had given him. "Now let's take a look at this thing and see if we can't get it working—"

His sentence was cut off as a door slammed loudly upstairs.

"Danny?" Maddie's voice echoed faintly down the stairs. Both men stopped, their eyes flashing to the stairwell, listening intently. For a few moments the voices were too low to make out clearly. Suddenly, though—

"Danny, your face! Are you bleeding? What on earth happened to you?"

"Dammit, mom, I told you I'm fine! No-no-no, just stay away from me! God, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Danny, please! Let me help you! You're hurt!"

"No! What the fuck do you care, anyways? You never showed this much interest before—"

"What are you talking about Danny? I'm your _mother!_ I've always loved you!" Danny laughed harshly. There was a jumble of activity followed by the sound of something glass shattering on the floor. "Daniel Charles Fenton!" screeched Maddie. "Are you _drunk?_"

"So what if I am?"

"It is two-thirty in the afternoon!" Maddie's voice was filled with exasperated rage. "It is two-thirty in the afternoon and you've just staggered into this house drunk and bleeding! Where in the world have you been?"

"It's none of your goddamn business, that's where I've been!" roared Danny.

"_Daniel!_"

"Oh fuck off, mom!" The boy's scathing voice grew distant as he traveled up to the second floor. "Go call Jazz and cry about it for a while; you'll feel better…." There was another faint slam that Vlad supposed was Danny shutting himself in his room, and an odd strangled sound from Maddie that sounded like halfway between a scream and a sob, followed by nothing but awful silence. The entire exchange had taken less than two minutes.

"Sorry about that, Vlad." Jack's voice was as small and strained as Vlad had ever heard it. Vlad, rather uncomfortable and at a loss for words, looked up from the bench he'd been staring at and was slightly taken aback by Jack's pallid expression.

"Don't worry about it, Jack," said Vlad. His eyes flicked towards the stairs. "Do you need to, you know… see to things up there?"

"No. Maddie's tough; she can handle it." Jack's voice was gruff, and Vlad got the distinct feeling that the answer was an excuse to avoid the situation upstairs. "This kind of thing isn't all that unusual, after all," Jack finally grumbled. Vlad shifted his weight, adjusting his glasses as he tried to process what he was hearing and formulate an appropriate response but finding himself unable to do either.

For a long time Jack cradled the small device he'd picked up in his hand, fingers mindlessly twisting the coppery ends of two frayed wires together, lost in thought. His face was heavy with a look of dark and brooding contemplation.

"Vlad?"

"Yes?"

"I-I have… well, I have a favor to ask of you." Jack's eyes flashed quickly to Vlad's before dropping down again. He was clearly breaching an uncomfortable topic but seemed set in his determination to do so.

"A favor?"

"Yeah. About Danny."

"Oh?" Vlad's voice was high and small.

"Yeah…. I was wondering—Well, actually, Maddie and I were both wondering if maybe you could… _talk _to him." Vlad arched a brow in confusion.

"You want me to talk to him? Why? About what?" Jack fidgeted, brow knit together.

"You heard what happened up there," he muttered. "The truth is that ever since Danny left for school he's been so distant… his behavior's changed, he doesn't keep in touch—"

"He _is_ twenty, Jack," said Vlad, keen to evade the favor. There was no way _he_ could talkto Danny. Not now. "Did you get along with your parents when you were twenty? It's probably just a phase—"

"I'm worried about him, Vlad," said Jack, and there was a stern kind of desperation in his voice that shut up Vlad and commanded his attention. "He drinks, he smokes, I've caught him with pot and I know he does worse than that. His grades are erratic; he's not going to class. I contacted his professors and they told me skips more classes than he attends." Jack set down the device he was holding and rubbed his temples.

"But that's not the worst of it, Vlad. His roommate last year told me Danny would be gone for long periods of time—he'd disappear for three, four, five whole days, and when he'd show up again he'd be drunk or high and looking like he hadn't slept in all that time…." Jack's sentence trailed off and he stared blankly across the lab to a far wall. When he spoke again his voice was strained. "He lost five jobs last year, Vlad. Five. In six months. He's got one now thank god, but who knows how long that'll last…. This kind of behavior—it's-it's not like him, Vlad. Danny was a good kid; he never had these kinds of problems before." Vlad crossed his arms, frowning. When he spoke again his mouth was unnaturally dry.

"Have _you _ever tried talking to him, Jack?"

"Of course," spat Jack, almost disparagingly. "But he refuses to talk to Maddie and I, and if we try to press him he gets upset. We tried to sit him down and talk to him last year, kind of like an intervention, and it turned into an argument so loud I'm still shocked the neighbors didn't call the police." His face turned grim. "Danny stormed out of the house—we didn't hear a word from him for four and a half months after that. He wouldn't even come home for Christmas…. That was hard for Maddie." He shrugged. "It was hard for all of us." Vlad said nothing.

"And as for his friends," Jack continued, "well, there was only ever really Sam and Tucker, and they haven't told us anything. I thought they'd know _something_; after all, the three of them used to be thick as thieves, I didn't really see how they couldn't. But they've denied knowing anything helpful every time I've asked."

"I see."

"I'm scared Danny's going to get himself into serious trouble, Vlad," said Jack finally. "He's got a problem controlling his temper. There've been fights; he broke a kid's nose at school last May—"

"What? Why?"

"I'm not sure. He wouldn't ever really tell us. But he was really bent out of shape about the whole thing. I think… I think the kid was bullying him about being gay. You know, teasing him about it? I heard Danny talking on the phone to someone… Anyways, we're lucky the parents didn't file a lawsuit; they threatened to at first."

"Hmm."

"Look, I'm not trying to force you into anything you don't want to do," reading Vlad's impassive expression. "But I was just hoping that you could at least try… he might open up to you. You've got certain things in common… that might make talking easier…." It took Vlad a second to make sense of the 'certain things' Jack was referring to.

"You mean because I'm bi?" he finally sputtered. "Is that why you're asking me?"

"I'm asking you because I _trust_ you, Vlad," said Jack earnestly. "But…well, I mean, okay, yeah, that's also part of it. I-I can't tell you how hard it was for me—I knew he had questions, I knew he was confused, but I didn't know how to help him at all." He looked down at the ground, clearly ashamed. "And a father's supposed to be able to help his son learn about that part of life, you know?" He said to the floor. "But what was I supposed to tell him? The things he was experiencing weren't the same things I experienced when I was his age. I wanted Danny to be able to come to me for answers, to be able to talk to me and confide in me and trust me… but it didn't take either of us very long to figure out I didn't know how to help him. Not really." For some reason Vlad was finding it difficult to breathe.

"The truth is that I thought of asking you before… but things just come up, and, well, I didn't want to put that kind of burden on you then." Jack rubbed his neck, a nervous half-smile spreading on his face. "I know it's a lot to ask. But things have gotten so bad between Danny and Maddie and me lately. " The smile disappeared. "I feel like I'm losing my son, Vlad. And I'm scared because I feel like I might actually lose him—there's times when I won't hear from him for weeks and weeks I feel like I'm just sitting and waiting for the call telling me that he… that he's…." His voice broke and finally trailed away, sending a wavering needle of guilty sympathy through Vlad's reserved psyche.

"Well," said Jack finally, "I just want my son back. And you're my best friend, Vlad; I've known you since I was ten. So yeah, I think he might open up to you because you're bi, but I'm _asking_ you because I wouldn't trust this to anyone else."

Vlad shifted, surprised to find he was actually considering the offer. Because as much as he wanted to say no, he wasn't sure how he could. Jack's words had worn on his usually indifferent heart like waves on a crumbling shore. Still, after what had transpired between him and Danny, agreeing to spend further time with the boy seemed like a Pandora's box of poor decision. And aside from all that, Vlad didn't know the first thing about raising kids. Even on his best day, how good of a mentor could he possibly be?

"I don't know, Jack," Vlad said hesitantly, but he stopped when he saw Jack's face fall in an expression of crushing disappointment. The man's entire body seemed about ready to implode in sorrow. And, be it because of Jack or guilt or some combination of the two, Vlad changed his mind. "Well, okay," he sighed. "I'll try."

"Oh thank god, Vlad," said Jack, clasping his hands together in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—"

"Well, don't count your chickens," Vlad warned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "But I'll be in Chicago for a few weeks anyways, so we'll see what happens." Jack grinned and was about to say something when the door to the upstairs swung open.

"Vlad?" Maddie stepped into the lab, holding what Vlad recognized as his phone in her hand. "You missed a call," she said, handing it to him. "I figured it was probably important, so I fished it out of your coat pocket for you."

"Thank you, Maddie," said Vlad, flashing her a quick smile. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot and puffy. "It was my broker," he muttered scathingly, seeing up the man's name flash on his caller ID. "I should call him back before he fucks up my entire portfolio." Jack chuckled.

"No rest for the weary, huh?" he said. Vlad grinned.

"Not a chance."

---

Twenty minutes later Vlad shivered against the biting cold, turning halfway to wave a final goodbye to Jack and Maddie before stepping outside and shutting the door behind him. The weather seemed to have taken a turn for the worse; angry clouds churned low in the sky, spurred on by a vicious wind. Vlad pulled the collar of his coat tight around his neck as he made his way to his car, carefully sidestepping several murky puddles leftover from the previous night's storm that were now in the process of freezing over.

Vlad's parking job wasn't exactly spectacular. The man found his little silver car wedged nearly sideways across three spaces, the left side of the nose just a few centimeters from the curb. And he'd left his headlights on. For over twelve hours. In this freezing Chicago weather. Perfect. It was lucky his cars were kept in immaculate condition, Vlad thought moodily, yanking open the door and slumping into the driver's seat. If they weren't, the battery would most likely die before he was halfway downtown, and he'd find himself stranded on the Skyway or in some similar mess.

"Which would be the perfect way to top off a truly hellish two days," Vlad grumbled to the windshield. He noticed with a frown that big, fluffy snowflakes were beginning to fall, collecting on the tinted glass. He swore bitterly and reached for the ignition.

"Language, Vlad," came a sardonic voice to his right. Vlad yelped, jumping a few inches in surprise and scrambling around to locate the origin of the voice. And there he found, much to his shock and displeasure, a lethargic Danny stretched out across the passenger's seat, staring out the window with just the faintest hint of a grin submerged in his features.

"Get-get the hell out of my car, Daniel!" Vlad gasped, snarling as he tried to recover from the unpleasant shock of having the boy suddenly appear next to him. Danny only turned his head slightly, meeting Vlad's glare with a defiant gaze.

"No," he said flatly. Vlad could see a nasty reddening scrape at his temple that had yet to scab. It must have been the wound Maddie had seen when she'd noticed Danny was bleeding. "We've got unfinished business to deal with, Vlad," said Danny. He turned away from Vlad again, running a listless finger across the wood paneling of the dashboard. "Nice car, by the way."

"Daniel," warned Vlad, his grip tightening on the wheel. "I don't have time for this." He pointed to the door. "Get out."

"Make time," said Danny simply, drawing his knees up to his chest and twisting his body about to face Vlad completely. "This is important. We need to talk."

"I thought we agreed to not speak of what happened again," growled Vlad. Danny shrugged.

"Well, I know I _said _that," he said innocently, his grin widening. "But then I got to thinking, and I realized that that conversation wasn't very fair." Vlad felt his heart begin to thump in his chest when he noticed that Danny was slowly leaning forward, inching towards him in an overtly seductive fashion. His eyes darted quickly to the Fenton's building, as if expecting to find an outraged Jack and Maddie staring at the scene unfolding in the car through the back window. But he saw nothing save bleak bits of ash-like snow—he and Daniel were very much alone.

When Vlad turned back, he saw the boy's face was already just inches from his own, and with a frustrated grunt he scooted as far backwards as possible, pressing his back uncomfortably against the uneven surface of the door. The smell of liquor on the boy was nearly overpowering.

"Are you drunk, Daniel?" Vlad hissed. "_Again?_" Danny only laughed, strands of thick dark hair falling into his eyes.

"What's the difference?" he mumbled sloppily, leaning in further. He was almost entirely in Vlad's seat by now. "You look cute with your glasses on, you know," he said, reaching up to Vlad's face to poke at a lens. "I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier."

"Oh my god, Daniel," said Vlad. Desperate and exasperated, he smacked Danny's roaming hand away. This was far, far, far too reminiscent of the night before—

"Don't make this same mistake again, Daniel," Vlad mumbled breathily, shuddering as Danny took the opportunity to press against him fully, pinning Vlad between his warm body and the deathly cold window. But it _did _feel good, felt just as good as it had the previous night, and just as before, Vlad felt his body reacting in a very inappropriate way. His hands were already tangled in the boy's hair, pulling their bodies closer together.

"Oh, but it wasn't a mistake, Vlad," whispered Danny in his ear, his hot breath making the hairs on the back of Vlad's neck stand on end. "I wanted what happened last night." Hands were on Vlad's shoulders. "I wanted more." Hands were on his chest. "And so did you." Hands were kneading into his skin, sweeping across to his back, moving so perfectly with Vlad that the man tipped his head back and began to pant into the roof of the car—

"Daniel, please," managed Vlad between breaths, feeling his own body move against Danny's as if of it's own accord. "I don't want… I-I can't take advantage of you like this. Not again…." But even as he said it he shifted position slightly, spreading his legs apart just enough to let Danny slide in between them. The boy sighed in obvious pleasure.

"Then stop me, Vlad," Danny said huskily, nipping along the edge of Vlad's jaw. "Stop me if you don't want this." Vlad growled but said nothing.

They spent a few minutes like that, moving against one another, nipping and biting and scratching, walled in by the steering wheel, leather upholstery, and quickly fogging windows. And it was at that time, when he was convinced that there was no going back, no use in even trying to comprehend how many kinds of wrong what they were doing was, that Vlad finally dared to delve his hand into Danny's pants.

"Oh god, Vlad," moaned Danny, arching his back and thrusting up into Vlad's palm. "Oh fuck, Vlad, fuck, I don't care, I love you. I love you so much." And his lips came crashing down onto Vlad's so hard the man barely had time to register that a tongue was pushing deep into his throat. But those things paled in comparison to what happened next, because at that exact moment Vlad felt something shift in the space around him. He was falling; a pocket of dense air seemed to ripple through his body, and before Vlad even felt the explosion of icy air on his skin, his head slammed back into gravelly concrete so hard the wind was knocked from his lungs.

And in that moment of impact Vlad sensed several things, like grotesquely tangible images, very fast and all at once: the scent of old-fashioned ink, a mechanical beep and a flash of red light, a casket, a revolver, the echo of a searing pain in his side, the crash of an empty bottle of gin as it shattered against a wall, and, far off, a sea of warped and shadowy faces staring down at him, though whether they stared in reverence or contempt or something else entirely Vlad couldn't quite tell. They were already steeped in shadow, stretching out into a limitless horizon, as taut and brittle as a string about to snap.

The first thing Vlad saw as his eyes fluttered open was swirling grey Chicago sky. Though he felt as though he'd traveled a thousand miles, he was merely sprawled on his back on the ground outside his car, glasses askew. Blinking to clear his head, Vlad let snowflakes fall and melt on his face, slowly coming to grips with what had just happened: he'd phased through the door of the car.


End file.
